


Across the Multiverse: Oneshot Collection - NSFW

by wittyy_name



Series: Oneshot Collections [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, I'm catching the filters but please look at the summaries to get more accurate tags for each oneshot, M/M, More specific tags before each oneshot, Mutual Pining, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyy_name/pseuds/wittyy_name
Summary: A collection of oneshots that I've written throughout the years from prompts. The collection rated explicit, counterpart to the more SFW collection.Each chapter is a oneshot. Additional tags and summaries will be in the summary of each chapter.The first chapter will serve as a master list of all the oneshots within (along with word count, rating, aus, and themes) to allow an easier time choosing which you'd like to read. This will update as more are added.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Oneshot Collections [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146599
Comments: 24
Kudos: 327





	1. Table of Contents

**Chapter 1** \- Table of Contents

**Chapter 2** \- _You've Got Me Like That Bass -_ 6,750 words _-_ [ stripper au - mutual pining - blowjob ]  
 **Chapter 3** \- _You've Got Me Like A Blizzard_ \- 5,454 words - [ Established Relationship - Semi Public Sex - Bathroom Sex - Rim Job - Anal Sex ]  
 **Chapter 4** \- _You've Got Me Like A Penthouse Suite_ \- 7,922 - [ pining - growing relationship - rockstar Keith - interior designer Lance - sex on a balcony ]  
 **Chapter 5** **-** _Better the Devil You Know_ _-_ 4,616 - [ warlock Lance - demon Keith - rough sex - possessiveness - top Keith - bottom Lance ]


	2. You've Got Me Like That Bass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stripper au - mutual pining - blowjob - 6,750 words
> 
> _Keith’s life as a bank teller isn’t exactly exciting, but he finds himself looking forward to Mondays for one very specific reason: Lance McClain._
> 
> _The charming young man with a swagger in his step, a mischievous glint in his beautiful blue eyes, and an endless abundance of pick-up lines makes Keith’s heart race and knees weak. Lance has two Monday traditions: flirting with Keith and bringing in a bag of loose bills. Because of that second part, he’s become the subject of a bank wide: drug dealer or stripper._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this one is pretty mild as far as Explicit goes. But I wanted to keep anything with actual descriptions of the sex moments in this collection. Enjoy!

“Next!” Allura calls, waving off her previous customer before turning to the line. 

Keith doesn’t have to look to know  _ exactly _ who’s next. He saw him come in. Made eye contact as he pushed those obnoxiously bright sunglasses to the top of his head and looked around the bank until zeroing in on Keith. Looked away quickly, but not without his heart rate spiking and smile becoming strained as he sauntered across the bank. Keith could practically  _ feel _ his eyes on him for the past ten minutes as he waited in line. 

As Allura turns her blinding smile to the line, Keith feels himself tense.  _ Knows _ Lance is next. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been trying to hurry his current customer along, but she’s got a seemingly never ending arsenal of questions, and Allura beats him to it. 

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Lance goes to another teller. It’s not like Keith has been looking forward to this all weekend. Not like he looks forward to every Monday because it means Lance is going to come in and hit him with that smile that makes his insides get all fluttery and weak. No. Lance may be one of his favorite customers, but that’s only because he’s interesting. It’s only because of the bank wide bet. It has nothing to do with his shockingly blue eyes, or the melody of his laugh, or the way his hips swing when he walks with a confident swagger. 

No, because that would be creepy and would mean Keith has  _ feelings _ , and feelings very rarely end well. 

He’s just a pretty face that comes in every Monday and brightens Keith’s day. That’s all. 

He tries to ignore him. He really does. But he finds himself glancing over at him. They make eye contact, and Keith feels his breath catch in his throat, cutting off whatever automatic answer he’s been giving his customer. To be honest, he stopped paying attention minutes ago. 

But Lance just cocks this small little smile and turns to the person behind him, lips moving as he says something and gestures them forward. They give him an odd look, but merely shrug as they walk up to Allura’s station. 

And if Keith feels the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach? No one has to know. 

“Have a nice day,” he says, customary smile plastered across his face as his customer turns away. Ignoring the heat in his chest, he turns to the line. “Next.”

Lance grins as he saunters over, and Keith feels his smile fade, expression relaxing into something more natural. He’s been told that he has resting murder face, but Lance has never seemed to mind. In fact, he once declared it his goal to make Keith smile for  _ real _ . 

He usually succeeds. 

“Does the bank know they have a thief working for them?” He asks, laying an elbow on the counter and leaning into it. 

Keith blinks, brows pinching in his confusion. “What?”

His grin widens, tilting his chin down to gaze up at him through his lashes. “Cause you stole my heart from across the room.” A wink. 

_ Oh _ . Oh. Just a pick up line. He... doesn’t know why he expected anything else. 

He sighs, head falling a little to the side as he gives him a deadpan look. “Lance,” he says flatly.

He raises his brows, flirty look falling for a moment and leaving him looking far too innocent and playful. “What? Not a winner?”

“Nope.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get you eventually.”

“Not if you keep this up.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” That smile is back, his voice drops, and Keith hates what it does to his insides. “You underestimate how persistent I can be when I want something. I’ll woo you one of these days. Believe it.”

Keith blinks, opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut. He takes a moment to just stare. “Did you just... quote Naruto?”

His smirk doesn’t even falter. “Maybe. Is that doing it for you?”

Keith snorts a short laugh, rolling his eyes and fighting his smile. “Nerd.”

“Hey,” he points at Keith, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You got the reference. So you’re right there with me, buddy.”

He can’t really fight him on that, so he switches tactics. “So what can I help you with today?”

Lance blinks, smile fading for a moment like he actually forgot where they are and why he’s there. What a dork. Then he recovers, lifting his bag and setting it on the desk, scooting it over to Keith. “Same old, same old. Making a deposit.”

Keith sighs, grabbing the bag and pulling toward him. He peeks inside and, sure enough, there’s just a mass of wadded bills. He stares at it for a moment, then slides his gaze to Lance. One eyebrow goes up. “Do you  _ really _ have to bring them to me like this?”

Lance just grins, all cheerful and lopsided and Keith can’t really find it in him to  _ actually _ be irritated. He folds his arms on the high counter, resting his chin on them as he gazes up at Keith. “But if I bring them to you like this, it takes you longer to count them, and then I get to hang out with you longer.”

Keith snorts, ignoring the little thrill that goes through him as he digs through the bag, pulling out a handful of bills and straightening them into a more manageable pile. “You know, usually we make people actually present their bills neatly, precounted, and with a deposit slip.”

“Yeah, but  _ you’ve _ never complained,” he practically purrs, all cocky amusement. He lowers his voice again, keeping their conversation just between them. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked me.”

Keith feels the heat at the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look up from his work. “Did you at least get a deposit slip this time?”

“I did,” He says, waving the small paper in the air. “But I forgot how to fill it out. Can you show me?”

“I show you every time.”

“And yet I never learn. It’s almost like I’m blinded by your beauty.” 

Keith chooses not to answer, putting his focus on straightening and organizing the bills. His nose wrinkles as he digs around in the bag to make sure he’s gotten everything. “Why do these always smell so bad?”

Lance huffs a short laugh, resting his chin back on his arms. “You should  _ see _ some of my customers. I’m pretty sure some of them have never heard of soap, let alone showers.” 

His lip curls. “Sounds gross.”

A shrug. “It is, but it pays the bills.”

Keith stuffs the money into the bill counter and helps Lance fill out the deposit slip, which he  _ knows _ he knows how to do, but Keith doesn’t mind because it means he gets to lean over the counter into Lance’s personal space, smell the scent of his floral shampoo, and casually brush their fingers together. 

Yeah, so  _ maybe _ he looks forward to Mondays because of Lance. So what?

“Have a nice day,” He says automatically as Lance turns to leave. 

He takes several steps backwards, still holding eye contact as he smiles. “I will now that I’ve seen you.”

“Get new material.”

“Does that mean I have a chance?”

“Next!” He calls, turning to the next customer as Lance laughs. 

It takes several more hours for the lunch rush to calm down, but Keith can still feel a buzz through his veins. He knows from experience that this feeling will carry with him for the rest of the day. It’s the Lance Effect. 

“So?” Matt asks, leaning a hip against the divider between their stations and crossing his arms over his chest.

“So?” Keith asks, eyebrow raised. 

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, man. Give us the details. Did Lance say anything today?”

Oh, right. That. He thinks back on their conversation, taking his time even though it’s been running through his head on repeat for hours. He hums, nodding slowly. Like he just happened to remember something. “He said he doesn’t think his customers have ever heard of soap or showers.”

Matt makes a thoughtful face, pursing his lips. “So gross customers? Probably sweaty and smell bad?”

Allura huffs from her station on the other side of him, and they both turn to look at her. She leans on the divider wall, crossing her arms over it. “That could be stripper  _ and _ drug dealer. That’s no fun.”

“So a tally for both?” Matt asks, arms dropping to his sides as he makes his way to the break room. 

“Unfortunately,” Allura grumbles. “At this rate we’ll  _ never _ learn the truth.”

“You could just ask him,” Keith points out. 

She huffs again, eyes sparkling as she smiles. “And where’s the fun in that?”

* * *

“I’m just saying it’s been a while,” Shiro says as he pulls into the parking lot. “It might do you some good to just... go for it.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me I need to get laid,” Keith says dryly, staring out the passenger side window. Shiro sputters, making these small offended sounds. Keith turns to look at him, smirk on his face. 

Shiro glasses as he shoves the car into park with far more force than necessary. “I wasn’t telling you to get  _ laid _ . I’m telling you that it’s obvious that he likes you, and you like him, so you should try flirting back.”

“Isn’t there like...  _ rules _ against flirting with customers?”

He shrugs, unbuckling his seat belt, a small grin on his lips. “Maybe, but I’m the manager, and I’ll pretend like I didn’t see anything.”

Keith groans, unbuckling his belt and reaching for the car door. “I thought I  _ was _ flirting with him...” He grumbles, throwing the door open. 

“You...” He turns back to Shiro to find him staring, brows furrowed and smile dropped. His lips purse, fighting a smile as amusement and pity fight for dominance over his expression. “Oh, Keith. You thought you were flirting?”

Keith scowls. “Shut up. I’m not good at this, okay?”

Shiro laughs, and Keith climbs out of the car, slamming the door shut. He starts across the lot, and Shiro hurries to catch up, still chuckling under his breath. Keith shoves him, causing him to stumble but his amusement doesn’t fade.

“Besides, why are you encouraging me? We all think he’s either a stripper or a drug dealer.”

Shiro shoves his hands into his pockets, standing tall but clearly at ease as they stride back toward the bank. Once they’re through those doors, he’ll be in manager mode again, and Keith can see him already slipping into it. “We have a running  _ joke _ that he’s a stripper or a drug dealer,” he points out. “In reality, he’s probably just a waiter or bartender somewhere. Some place that gets tips.”

“Maybe,” Keith says, reaching for the door and holding it open. 

The bank is mostly empty. No one in the teller line, but one customer at Allura’s station. There’s someone in the loan office talking to Coran. The radio plays softly, smooth classical pieces because it’s Shiro’s day to pick a station, and he thinks it helps stimulate brain function or something. Keith deals with customers all day, and he can guarantee it stimulates no such thing. 

The only thing that’s out of the ordinary is the one customer who’s lounging in one of the armchairs in the lobby, long legs stretched out in front of him, elbow on the arm of the chair, hand holding up his head as he plays on his phone, one foot bouncing. 

“Lance?” Keith says, coming to an abrupt stop. 

He looks up at the mention of his name, curiosity brightening into something warm and cheerful and  _ fond _ as his gaze settles on Keith. “There you are!” He says, pushing himself to his feet and shoving his phone in his pocket along with his hands. “Not nice of you to keep me waiting, you know.”

“I was... at lunch,” he says lamely, still not quite able to process. “Were you...” He tilts his head to the side, brows furrowing. “Waiting for me?”

“Of course,” He says, no less bright, no shame. 

“He refused to let me help him,” Matt says from his teller desk, not even bothering to look up from his phone. 

Lance glances over his shoulder at him and scoffs good naturedly. “I have a tradition, and that tradition includes Keith.”

He smiles, eyes dark and warm, posture relaxed, voice genuine. Keith thinks he feels his heart stopping. 

Then there’s a pat on his back, jarring him forward and back to life. He stumbles a step and turns to glare at Shiro. 

The man just grins, eyes alight with mischief. “Guess you better get back to work then, huh?” He says, then walks away. “Remember what we talked about!” 

Keith glares after him before shifting his gaze back to Lance. He’s surprised at what he finds there. No longer smiling, his brows are pinched and lips pursed as he watches Shiro. When he turns back to Keith, he catches a glimpse of something... odd in his expression. Odd and foreign and not at all like the cocky confidence he’s come to associate with him. It looks almost... sad. Uncertain? 

But then it’s gone, and his smile is back in place. 

As Keith slips back behind the counter and clocks in, Lance takes up his usual position in front of Keith’s station, patiently waiting with his bag on the counter, arms over top it, and chin resting there as he leans forward, waiting patiently and giving Keith the distinct impression of a puppy.

“Soooo...” He says as Keith gets to his station, waking his computer up from sleep mode. “You and the manager?”

“What?” Keith blinks, turning to look at him with a small, confused frown.

“You and Beefy McSoftEyes over there,” he says, nodding his head toward Shiro’s office. There’s something in his voice. It’s cool and casual, but lacks any of his usual depth. Keith has come to see Lance as an open book when it comes to his emotions, so hearing him so guarded puts him off kilter. 

He follows Lance’s gaze, eyeing Shiro through the glass walls. “What about him?” He looks back to Lance, brows furrowed. 

He’s not looking at him as he picks at a stray thread on his bag. “You guys like... a thing or something?” There it is again. That play at indifference. The attempt at lightheartedness. The failure as he just ends up sounding plastic and strained. 

“What? No,” Keith says, lip curling and nose wrinkling. Lance finally looks up at him, eyes widening with a spark of  _ something _ . “Shiro’s my best friend,” he explains. “We just went out to grab lunch.”

A second passes. Then two. And then all of a sudden, Lance is back. That smile slips its way onto his face, smooth as silk and fluid as water, taking its usual place, crinkling his eyes as they dance with far too many emotions to name. 

“Oh,” is all he says, but it’s the tone of it that has Keith reeling. “Cool.”

They’re quiet for a moment as he scoots the bag to Keith, and he starts counting out the bills. It’s habit by now, routine, comfortable and automatic. 

“Why do you always wait for me?” He asks, eyes on the money in his hands.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you always insist on me as your teller?” He asks again, keeping his voice even as he peeks up through his lashes. 

Lance hums thoughtfully, then answers with a blunt honesty and a smile that has his breath hitching. “Because it’s an excuse to talk to you.”

Keith has to look away before that smile drowns him. This boy isn’t good for his poor heart. 

He clears his throat, standing up a little straighter, stacking the bills a little slower than he normally might have. “So... no pick up line today?”

A spark of mischief as he lifts his head, the way he leans onto the counter with a near predatory grace, the low husk of his voice, his half lidded eyes. “If you were a transformer, you'd be Optimus  _ Fine _ .”

Keith groans, Matt and Allura snicker, and Lance just stands there, preening with pride.

* * *

“And so  _ then _ she gives me like two dollars.  _ Two dollars _ . Can you believe that? Just two fucking gross ass dollar bills and chucks them at me. And I don’t know if you know this about money, but it’s not exactly aerodynamic. You can’t throw it very well. Making it rain? Yeah, they call it that cause it rains  _ down _ and doesn’t get tossed across the room.”

Keith snorts, unable to stop the small smile from curving the edge of his mouth. Lance catches it. Of course, he does. But Keith doesn’t mind when his own smile brightens a little because of it. He’s leaning forward on the counter, elbows planted as he waves his hands around while he talks. It’s animated, loud, and insanely cute. 

Keith has already counted his bills. They lay in the tray of the counter with the total flashing on the screen, but he pays it no mind. He leans on an elbow, chin in his palm as he listens, not even bothering to hide the fact that Lance has his complete and undivided attention. It’s a slow day and they don’t have any other customers at the moment, so Keith doesn’t mind putting off the inevitable if it means Lance will stay a little longer.

“And  _ then _ she has the nerve to tell me it’s not worth the money? Like  _ bitch _ , if you’re gonna give me sass and dish out chump change, then you ain’t getting any of the high quality product.”

“A- _ HA! _ ” Allura shouts, slamming her hands down on her desk and causing both of them to jump. Keith whips around to look at her, eyes wide and startled heart pounding. A toothy grin spreads across her face, and her eyes dance with mirth as she looks between them. Then her gaze slips past them to where Matt is organizing the magazines on the coffee table in the lobby. “Matt, you heard that, right?”

He straightens, pushing his glasses up his nose with a wince still on his face. “Not as much as I heard you.”

“That  _ has _ to be a point for drug dealer!”

“What?” He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “No way, that’s clearly a point for stripper.”

“Drug dealer!”

“Stripper!”

“Um,” Lance cuts in, looking between them before turning to Keith, brows raised high and face blank in his bewilderment. “What’s happening?”

Keith glares at his coworkers, but turns to Lance with a sigh. It’s not like he can exactly hide it now. Besides, it’s not a big deal, right? As long as he makes it clear that it’s just a harmless running joke and that it in no way changes how he sees Lance, then it should be fine... Right?

“We, uh...” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “We have a running joke...”

“More like a bet,” Allura puts in.

“Definitely a bet,” Matt adds.

His scowl deepens. “We have a running bet about... you...”

Lance blinks. “Me?” Then his brows furrow, confusion and wariness taking hold, and Keith’s chest tightens. 

“It’s nothing bad,” he says quickly. “You just... You come in with a lot of—“ 

“You always come in with a lot of bills,” Allura says, quick, precise, confident. None of the slow uncertain mess that Keith was quickly becoming. 

“Usually low bills, like ones and fives.” Matt comes up to stand in front of Allura’s station, leaning a hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“And they’re usually bunched up and wadded together.” 

“So we started this running bet about whether or not you’re a stripper or a drug dealer.”

“Whenever we hear you say something odd, we categorize it as stripper or drug dealer and add a tally to the right column.”

“We have the tallies on sticky notes on the bulletin board in the break room.”

Keith groans, low and soft, as he runs his hands down his face. He collapses forward, hitting his forehead on his desk with more force than intended. He stays there though. It’s better to deal with the pain and wallow in his embarrassment than let it be seen. 

“Oh, wow,” Lance says, and it doesn’t sound offended, so that’s a plus. It  _ is _ however, carefully blank and neutral, still sounding surprised more than anything. 

Keith lifts his head to peek up at him through the curtain of his bangs. He looks between Allura and Matt, a slow smirk forming on his lips. He leans an elbow on the counter, sliding back into his confidence with ease. Mischief sparks in his eyes as they crinkle, his whole face lighting up with it. 

“So,” he says, casual as can be but amusement clear in his voice. “Which one is winning?”

Matt and Allura exchange looks, but it’s Keith who answers. “I think they’re even right now,” he mutters, almost immediately wishing he hadn’t when Lance’s gaze falls back to him. His eyes are half lidded and dark, capturing Keith’s gaze and refusing to let go. He depths of the ocean rising up and dragging him down with the undertow. 

“So what is it, Lance?” Matt teases. “Stripper or drug dealer?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he says, light and confident, almost dismissive. He never looks away from Keith, not even for a second. “I’m a stripper.” 

He doesn’t waver, and it doesn’t come off as a joke. It sounds matter-of-fact, unashamed, open, almost bored with the common knowledge.

Silence follows. Keith knows Allura and Matt are gaping, and he’s pretty sure he is, too. He knows Lance well enough by now to know when he’s joking, and right now Lance isn’t joking. He’s a stripper? Like  _ actually _ a stripper? Like he dances to music and slowly removes clothes to reveal that dark, delicious skin, grinding and rolling and— oh god, now is  _ not _ the time to be thinking about this.

His mouth feels dry, but he forces himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. Lance catches the movement, must see something amusing in Keith’s current inability to function, because he smirks, dark and small and  _ sinful _ . That smirk should be  _ illegal _ . 

“I make it a policy not to give anything out for free or to touch the customers,” he says, voice low, husky, dark and molten and sending heat straight to Keith’s gut, low and coiling. He leans forward, inches from Keith’s face. He can feel Lance’s breath, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze, unable to breathe. “But if you come by, I’ll make an exception.” 

He reaches out then, pad of his thumb lightly pressing into Keith’s bottom lip as his fingers curl under his chin to gently lift his jaw and close his mouth. 

Keith swallows hard, and Lance’s smirk curls wider. 

And fuck, it’s taken months, but he finally came up with a line that worked, and Keith’s heart isn’t ready.

* * *

Keith isn’t sure what he was expecting, but boy if he isn’t blown out of the water. 

Lance is... Lance is something. 

Keith can’t quite bring himself to find a seat front and center, but that doesn’t stop Lance from finding him right away. He hovers at the edge of the crowd gathered around his catwalk, feeling incredibly awkward with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders tense, flinching away every time someone shoves past him. He’s not used to clubs, let alone strip clubs. Not used to the atmosphere, the loud music, the lights, the people.

All of that fades, however, as soon as Lance comes out, and Keith’s awareness fades down to the cock of his hip, the beat in his step, and the dark skin that slowly gets revealed under the blue lights pointed at his stage. 

The pound of the bass vibrates through him, tugging him toward the stage with every pulse, even as Lance’s gaze pins him in place. The clothes he comes out with aren’t anything close to what Keith would call sexy, but he’s quickly proven wrong as Lance takes the stage, captivating the audience as only he can. His movements are slow and precise, sensual and fluid, containing graceful ease with the promise of strength. He knows exactly how to move to make his muscles roll, to make his bones like water only to reform with the jerk and grind of his hips. 

Keith is lost at sea, drowning in the deep bass and dark blue eyes. 

By the time he’s done, he’s in nothing but tiny boy shorts. Tiny, tiny black boyshorts that cling low on his hips and cup just below the curve of his ass. He goes down, hands rolling along his thighs, defined and long. He spreads his legs, sensual and teasing. His eyes haven’t left Keith’s for the last half of the song. The second clothes started coming off, his attention was on Keith, locked across the crowd as his lips moved with the lyrics, eyes half lidded and dangerous. 

He rises slowly, popping his ass out as he turns and giving Keith an eyeful. As the song ends, he’s already strutting back along the stage, away from the audience and ignoring the clothes he’s left abandoned on the stage. Keith watches him go. It would be considered criminal not to. Right before he disappears, he turns, catches Keith’s eye, and winks. 

And then he’s gone, and Keith is left reeling.

Reeling, and heavily in need of a drink. 

He weaves his way through the crowd, feeling dazed and unable to focus. Lance is a stripper. He’s  _ actually _ a stripper. He’s an  _ actual _ stripper.  _ Lance _ is a stripper. Lance is a  _ stripper _ . 

And from the looks of it, he’s a damn good one. 

What the hell has Keith gotten into?

Well... nothing yet, but now that he’s gotten an eyeful of that ass...

He leans against the bar, folding his arms over the top for support and resting his chin on his folded arms, focusing on his breathing as he waits.

He’s not expecting it when a beer bottle lands on the bar top in front of him. He blinks at it, then looks up, and is surprised to see—

“Matt?”

No, not Matt. They’re smaller, hair a little longer, face a little softer. 

“Nope, but close,” they say, pushing their glasses higher on their nose in a gesture that is so incredibly  _ Matt _ . “I’m his little sister. And  _ you _ are Keith.”

He blinks, brows pinching. “I— I am, but... how did you?”

“I’ve come into the bank a few times,” she says dismissively, waving him off, pushing the beer toward him and crossing her arms, leaning forward to put her elbows on the table. She cocks a coy little smirk. “And Lance won’t shut up about you.”

Heat starts in his chest, rising up the back of his neck. “Oh,” he looks down at the beer. His fingers have already curled around it. “I didn’t order this?”

She shrugs. “Lance said he’d buy you a drink, so the first one’s on him. Plus you looked a little dazed and confused, so I thought I’d help by making the decision for you.”

“Thanks,” he says. It comes out sounding a little more sarcastic than he intended, but he means it. “Does your brother know you work here?” He asks after taking a long sip.

“Nope,” she says, popping the  _ p _ . “And  _ you _ are not going to tell him,” she says with a threatening point. “Besides, I only work here on the weekends. Helps pay for college.”

Keith hums softly, nodding. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I like you already. Name’s Pidge.”

He doesn’t know how long he chats with Pidge, but it’s long enough for him to come to the conclusion that he likes her. They’ve just finished exchanging numbers with vague plans to binge X-Files some time when he feels a hand land heavily on his shoulder. 

He turns to find a guy that he’s never seen before. A pretty  _ big _ dude that he’s never seen before, but one who’s smiling at him like they’ve been friends for years. 

“Hey, man.”

“Uh, hey?”

“Name’s Hunk,” he says, extending a hand. “Lance’s roommate and one of the bartenders here.”

Keith takes it, shaking firmly and marveling at the softness of his grip. “Keith.”

He laughs lightly, and it’s warm and comforting and Keith could probably get to like this guy, too. “Yeah, I know. Lance won’t shut up about you.” He jerks a hand over his shoulder, pointing with his thumb. “He’s ready for you, by the way. Want me to show you the way?”

Ready for him? Oh god, what does that  _ mean _ ? He didn’t know Lance was setting something up for him. He doesn’t know what to expect or what he’s supposed to do, but... yeah, he definitely wants to find out. 

He chugs the rest of his beer and sets it down on the bar top. “Lead the way.”

He follows Hunk through the club, weaving around people and tables, passing several stages with jutting catwalks, maneuvering around cages. There are several other dancers on display, but he doesn’t give them any more than a curious glance. None of them are nearly as impressive as Lance. Despite his size, Hunk moves easily through everything, gently pushing and prodding drunk patrons out of the way, like one might with a child.

They slip past a bored looking bouncer, through a bead curtain, and into a back hallway. The lighting is dim, and doorways blocked by curtains blocked rows of rooms from view on either side. Music came from a few of them, but others seem empty.

Hunk leads him to one of the last rooms, pulling aside the curtain and gesturing him in with an amused smile. “Have fun,” he says as Keith steps past, patting him on the shoulder before letting the curtain fall.

Keith finds himself alone. The room is small, a booth curving along the opposite wall. The lighting is dim and tinted blue, glowing stars twinkling along a galaxy print along the ceiling and walls. He’s staring up at it when the heavy curtain pulls aside and Lance slips in. 

Keith jumps as hands find their way to his hips and a body presses against his back, hard and solid and warm. Keith leans into him automatically, tilting his head to the side as he feels Lance’s breath on his neck. 

“Hey,” there’s a smile in his voice, dark and deep and amused.

“Hey,” Keith says, hating how breathless he sounds but loving the way Lance grinds into him because of it. 

“Enjoy the show?” He breathes, lips trailing along the curve of Keith’s neck, hands slipping up and down his sides, slow and teasing, firm and warm, fingers long and searching. 

Keith arches his back, just enough to push back into him. “Not as much as you enjoyed putting it on.”

A chuckle, low and heady, making his toes curl and a tingle run down his spine. “It’s not every day I get a special guest.”

“Special guest?”

“Yup,” there’s pressure at his hips, encouraging him to turn, and suddenly they’re face to face. Lance is close, smiling this cute little smile that shouldn’t be so adorable on someone who’s half naked. Keith takes a moment to let his gaze wander down. He’s still wearing those tight little boy shorts, and his shirt this time barely counts. It’s a crop top, loose, and made from a sheer fabric that clearly shows the lines of the chest beneath. “Like what you see?”

Keith’s eyes snap back up, mouth feeling incredibly dry. He licks his lips, trying to find his voice and willing it to remain steady. “Yeah.” Steady, but deep and husky. He can live with that. His hands itch with need, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “Can I touch?”

Lance’s smile widens, quirking into a smirk that’s as devilish as it is mischievous. He tilts his head, leaning forward until their lips are barely a breath apart. “Normally, no, but like I’ve said before: you’re an exception.”

Lance’s lips are smooth, warm, and taste vaguely of cherries. Their kiss starts out small, hesitant and tentative as they explore each other, but their eagerness is hard to hold back. Lance nips playfully at his bottom lip, and Keith growls, hands grabbing his hips to pull them flush together. Lance gasps, and Keith licks his way into his mouth. 

Lance stiffens for only a moment before he’s melting into him, arms wrapping around his neck as Keith’s hands explore his sides, his chest, his back, his thighs, everywhere he can reach. He gives a pleased little hum when Keith takes a moment to squeeze his ass. 

When Lance pulls away, Keith chases after him, letting out a small whine. Lance just chuckles, walking them backwards until Keith’s legs hit the couch and he’s forced to sit down. Left suddenly without Lance’s warmth, Keith merely gazes up at him, feeling dazed and skin buzzing. 

Lance smirks, stepping between Keith’s legs and reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. He bends down, and Keith obediently tilts his head back to catch his lips in a slow, chaste kiss. “Ready for your personalized show?” 

Keith can’t quite formulate a response, but Lance takes the small hitch in his breath as a yes. 

Chuckling, he steps over to the soundsystem panel on the wall, and music starts playing through the speakers. 

It’s heavy with bass, slow and pulsing. A deep rumble that he feels in his bones, in his heart, in his veins. He watches with heavy eyes as Lance turns to look at him. His body moves with practiced precision, slow and graceful moving into jagged and sharp, catching and holding Keith’s attention. Mesmerizing. Tantalizing. Hypnotizing. 

He tilts his head to the side, exposing the long column of his neck, hands running down his body, back arching. He licks his lips, and Keith does the same, tasting the remnants of whatever he’d been wearing on his lips. 

Keith has never gotten a lap dance before in his life, but he’s pretty sure they’re not usually as involved as this. Lance isn’t shy about pressing up against him, putting himself on display and popping that damn fine ass right onto Keith’s lap. He grinds down, rotates his hips with movements that should be outlawed, straddles him with those long, long legs. All the while his hands comb through Keith’s hair, tugging playfully before moving down his chest, his arms.

He itches to touch, burns with it, and he knows Lance said it was okay, but he’s not sure he knows how to move his limbs anymore. All he can do is sit there and watch, feel the bass dragging him deeper and deeper into the ocean that is Lance. 

Then Lance is standing, but he isn’t gone for long. With hands on Keith’s thighs, he spreads them, sliding his way down to nestle between them. Keith can do nothing but watch, heart pounding and wide eyed, lips parted as he forces himself to remember to breathe.

Lance smiles up on him, sinful and playful all at once, as he easily pops the button of Keith’s jeans and slides the zipper down. 

Keith is in a state of dysfunction until Lance wraps those long fingers around him and pulls him out. Then he gasps, back arching, hips jerking forward, biting his tongue as he holds his breath. Lance bends down, tilting his head back far enough to look up at him through his lashes as he presses his lips to the underside of his cock. 

“So hard already,” he teases, voice a low breathy rumble against his sensitive flesh. Keith’s hands curl into fists beside him. “And just for me? I’m flattered.” He shifts to press a kiss to the head, tonguing his slit and tasting him. 

Keith gasps, hips canting of their own accord. “Lance.”

“That’s it, Keith, let me hear you,” he says, voice almost  _ hungry _ and eyes predatory as he looks up at him, smile holding promises. 

He holds his gaze for a second. Two. Three. Moments pass. The bass pounds on, pulsing through the floor and the seat beneath him, encouraging his heart to keep beating. 

Then Lance lowers, and his lips wrap around his cock, and Keith tilts his head back and sees stars. 

Lance’s mouth is wet and hot, lips tight and slick. He moves slowly, testing the waters as he sinks down, then speeding up as he grows accustomed to it. His hand works what his mouth can’t reach, and then his tongue adds to the mix and Keith can’t hold back anymore. 

“Lance—“ he gasps, one hand going to Lance’s head, fingers burying in his hair and curling, not pushing but simply holding on. 

Lance hums, vibrations adding to the pound of the bass, making Keith’s hips jerk. His free hand goes to Keith’s hip, putting enough pressure there to hold him down, keep him still, let Lance do whatever he wants and set his own pace. Keith is perfectly fine with letting him take the reins, but his body moves of its own accord, hips shallowly thrusting against Lance’s grip, a whine slipping past his lips, high pitched and needy. 

He’s embarrassingly close. Feels the telltale pressure and heat coiling low in his gut. Lance has made short work of him, and yet he can’t bring himself to feel ashamed. He has a feeling Lance will only take it as a compliment. And while he usually tries not to feed the guy’s ego, he’ll make an exception in this case. 

“Lance, I’m—  _ fuck _ —  _ Jesus _ — I’m close— holy  _ fuck _ —“ 

He feels the stretch of a smile around him and finds himself opening his eyes, not quite remembering when they had squeezed shut. He makes the mistake of looking down, of seeing Lance with his eyes half lidded and dark with desire, of seeing the way his mouth stretches around him, hair a mess between Keith’s fingers, ass in view behind him. 

Once they make eye contact, Lance goes deep and sucks  _ hard _ . 

Keith’s entire body tenses as he tips over the edge, cumming abruptly and hard as a cry tears from his lips, devolving into a low groan as he comes down. Lance works him through it, and he feels his tongue as he cleans him up. Terrible. Sinnful. Beautiful. Goddamn, Keith is in over his head. 

His eyes fall shut, and his head tilts back against the back of the seat. He takes a moment to simply breathe, body still buzzing from the high even as it melts into the worn leather beneath him. He feels boneless and far, far gone. The music driving his heart and lungs to keep functioning. 

As he comes down, he feels Lance still between his legs, arms resting atop his thighs and chin propped up on his stomach. He cracks his eyes open, tilting his chin down to gaze down the length of his body to meet those beautifully blue eyes. 

Lance smiles, content and lazy, eyes lidded and fond, lips red and wet. “Good?” He asks, voice hoarse. 

Keith nods, clearing his throat and finding his voice. “Yeah,” he says, surprised when it doesn’t shake. “Yeah, very good.”

Red lips stretch a little wider, a small toothy grin. “Hey, look,” Fingers idly trace patterns along his hips and stomach where his shirt has been pushed up, light and teasing, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I know we’re kinda doing this backwards and all, but do you wanna like... go out sometime?” 

Shy hesitance, wavering bravado, small vulnerable smile. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, his own smile curving his lips without his permission. He runs his fingers through Lance’s hair, moving to cup his cheek and rub his thumb across his cheekbone. He leans into the touch with a soft hum, eyes never leaving Keith’s. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The music has stopped, but the bass continues to pulse in his heart, dragging him down deeper and deeper. When they kiss, it feels like drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. You've Got Me Like A Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established Relationship - Semi Public Sex - Bathroom Sex - Rim Job - Anal Sex - 5,454 words
> 
> _It isn’t the first time Keith has gone home with Lance, but it’s the first time since they’ve started dating. If spending the holidays with Lance’s family for the first time as an official boyfriend wasn’t stressful enough, his anxiousness goes through the roof when a blizzard delays their flight overnight._
> 
> _Fortunately, Lance has ways of helping Keith destress. They may not be the best methods, seeing as they’re trapped in an airport, but Keith has never been good at saying no to that face._

_ Delayed. _

Keith never thought it was possible to hate a word so much. To feel so much pent up frustration and irritation over a string of syllables. That a single sequence of letters could be the source of such a bone deep well of burning  _ loathing _ . 

_ Delayed _ .

He could feel a twitch under his eye and a tick in his jaw. 

_ Delayed. Delayed. Delayed.  _

He sat low in a chair at the end of the row, slouched down, legs stretched out in front of him, bent at the knee. His arms were crossed over his chest, chin tucked down, eyes locked on the departure board that was visible from his vantage point. 

_ Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. _

The red text flashed down the right side of the board. Constant. Unbroken. Unwavering. A line of letters that repeat. Over and Over. When Keith closed his eyes, he could see the word burned behind his eyelids. 

_ Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed.  _

“Stop grinding your teeth, dude.” There was a touch at his jaw, light and fleeting, but it got him to instantly relax. He closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of those fingertips. Lance chuckled softly, moving his fingers up to tangle into Keith’s hair, running through the thick strands to scratch at the back of his neck. “You know how much I love the whole _ moody and broody _ thing, but you’re scaring children.” 

Keith opened his eyes, seeing the departures board once more and face immediately twisting to a scowl at the line of red text. His gaze then drifted downward, to the side, landing on a child holding onto his parent’s hand. The moment they made eye contact, the kid’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open as he turned immediately, burrowing into his parent’s side. 

Keith sighed, turning his head and letting his eyes drift closed. Lance perched on the arm of Keith’s chair, and Keith leaned into him, letting himself get wrapped up in the blunt nails scratching at his scalp. “Please tell me you have good news.”

“Nnnnope,” he said, far too cheerful given the situation. “There’s nothing they can do. All flights are cancelled while the blizzard passes. We’re stuck here overnight, and we’ll see what the weather looks like in the morning.”

Keith let out a frustrated sigh, slouching a little lower, turning his face into Lance’s side. “Great.”

Lance chuckled, running his fingers through Keith’s hair. “They’re offering free shuttles to the nearby hotels with a discount on rooms.”

“Even with the discount, we can’t afford it,” Keith grumbled. Between living expenses, rent, and his limited time between his classes, his part-time job didn’t exactly give him a lot of wiggle room for expenses. If it weren’t for Lance’s family paying for his plane ticket, he wouldn’t be able to visit for Christmas. 

“True,” Lance hummed. “Looks like we’re roughing it here in the airport.”

“Why’re you so cheerful about this?” Keith asked, tilting his head back, expression disgruntled as he glared up at him. 

Lance just smiled down at him, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. He claimed that Keith’s glare was scaring children, but Lance looked at him like he was nothing more than a grumpy puppy. Somehow that made Keith’s heart squeeze, stomach fluttering pleasantly. 

Lance shrugged, eyes drifting up and away, looking out over the crowded airport. “Shit happens, dude. Storms come and planes get delayed. No biggie. Besides,” he said, lips stretching into a playful grin. He glanced down and sideways, giving Keith a small wink. “It’s like an adventure.”

“It’s a shitty adventure.” 

Lance snorted a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he stood up, leaving Keith to slouch back down in his chair. “You’re no fun.”

He drifted away, and Keith watched him, tilting his head to keep him in his sight as Lance walked up to the large wall length window. Outside, the sun was setting. Oranges and red casted an eerie glow over the falling snow, creating a bridge between sky and earth as the light bounced between clouds and snow, alighting the world in a sepia hue. 

It made a beautiful backdrop for Lance. He stood tall and strong, shoulders broad, tapering down into a thin waist. Legs long and shapely, arms gangly but not thin. His dark skin glowed amber in the setting sun, tousled hair cast in shadows. His silhouette against the piling orange snow, the flakes that whipped around on the wind, catching the light, was beautiful.

It made Keith’s heart pound. Made his head feel light and his mouth dry. His blood was a fire in his veins, a warmth pooling low in his gut, matching the glow in his chest. 

He was beautiful. He was strong. He was graceful.

And somehow, he was Keith’s. 

Six months of dating, preceded by nearly two years of friendship, and Keith still found it hard to believe.

“Hey, Keith, come over here.“

“No.”

Lance turned, giving Keith a pout. It was more adorable than anything, and they both knew he would give into it eventually. But that didn’t mean Keith was going to make it easy on him. “Keeeeith!”

“Nope.”

“ _ Keith _ !”

“No.”

“ _ Pleaaaase _ ?”

He sighed, putting his hands on the arms of his chair and pushing himself to his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest and dragged his feet the entire way to the window, ignoring the triumphant grin on Lance’s face. 

“Say cheese,” he said, throwing an arm over Keith’s shoulders and leaning in close, holding his phone up with the front facing camera on, snapchat open. 

Keith glared at the camera, lips twisted and disgruntled. Lance beamed, face glowing in the light from the sun. Not even the fluorescent lights in the airport could drown out the richness of his skin. 

Keith found himself staring at Lance after the picture was taken, and didn’t realize it until Lance snapped another picture. He looked at his phone, lines of his face lifting as he smiled, and Keith glanced at it. He looked... soft. All the hard angles soft around the edges, relaxed, and so incredibly  _ fond  _ as he stared at Lance’s grinning face.

Keith huffed, feeling his face burn as he turned away. 

Lance’s grip around his shoulders tightened, jostling him lightly. “Calm down, dude.”

“I  _ am  _ calm.”

Lance hummed, arm slipping down from his shoulder, pressing soothingly down his back before wrapping around his waist. He leaned his head on Keith’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. “This isn’t about the delay, is it?” He asked, voice soft and prying. He said it like a question, but it wasn’t.

Keith simply stared out at the falling snow, whipped around by the wind, piling in mounds on the ground below. 

“They’re gonna love you, Keith,” he said, voice barely above a whisper but firm in his conviction. He lifted his head and pressed his lips to Keith’s cheek. 

Keith closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. “But what if—“

“Buh, buh, buh, no but’s,” Lance said, cutting him off and pulling him tight to his side. “They’re going to love you, and that’s that. Besides, they already  _ know  _ you.”

Keith looked at him then, up through his lashes and the veil of his hair. “But this is the first time since...” He trailed off, gesturing between them, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Dude,  _ they  _ invited you out for Christmas.  _ They  _ paid for your ticket. They want you there. I want you there. I’m gonna kiss you under a mistletoe, and we’re gonna decorate a tree, and we’re gonna bake cookies, and I’m gonna fuck you in my childhood bed when everyone is asleep.” Keith snorted, fighting the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “So calm down, and let’s play with the snapchat filters. You look beautiful with a flower crown.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

* * *

“Baaaaabe.”

Keith didn’t move, nor does he open his eyes. They had found a section of the airport that was mostly abandoned and a row of seats without arms to get in the way. Lance was sitting in one of the chairs, legs crossed under him. Keith sprawled out next to him, head resting on his thigh, body curled beneath Lance’s jacket.

“ _ Baaaaabe _ .”

Keith curled just a little more, turning his face into Lance’s leg. 

“Babe, I’m bored,” he whined, one slender finger poking into Keith’s cheek. 

He scowled, blindly swatting the finger away. It receded for only a moment before it was back, poking at him again. “What’d you want me to do about it?” He grumbled.

His finger turned, running his knuckle gently down Keith’s cheek. The other digits joined it as they reached his neck, the vague chill of his skin oddly pleasant as he ran his fingers delicately down the side of Keith’s neck. He tilted his head, exposing more of his skin to Lance’s touch. He didn’t realize what he had done until he heard Lance’s soft, breathy chuckle. 

Keith couldn’t even bring himself to care. When the fingers reached the base of his neck, he tilted his head a little further, twisting his body a fraction to expose himself a little more. Lance’s fingers danced across his collarbones, light and fleeting, teasing and playful. 

Keith hummed, soft and pleased, as Lance traced the column of his neck. 

Then the hand splayed out, fingers long and spread as his hand dipped beneath the collar of Keith’s shirt. Fingers curled. Blunt nails dug into his chest. Palm rested hot and heavy over his heart. 

Well, that was... different.

Keith opened his eyes, rolling his head back further to glance up at Lance. His eyes were lidded, blue irises dark and swirling with heat. His lips tugged up into the barest of smiles, playful, teasing, and full of promise. 

Oh.

Keith frowned, but he didn’t push Lance’s hand away. “Lance, no.”

“Come ooon,” he said, voice a low pur. His hand pulled out of Keith’s shirt only to press down on the outside of it. Beneath his own jacket that Keith was using as a blanket, through the opening of Keith’s unzipped hoodie, Lance ran his hand down Keith’s chest, slow and measured, fingers splayed wide. Down to his stomach, fingertips picking at and lifting the hem of his shirt. Fingers sliding back and forth over the strip of skin just below his navel, from hip bone to hip bone. Light enough to be innocent, but firm enough to be teasing.

Keith closed his eyes, feeling a shudder run through him, back automatically arching into Lance’s touch. “No,” he said, but it was breathless, and they both heard it.

“Please?” His voice was innocent and pleading, but his tone was of one who had already won. 

Keith opened his eyes to glare up at him. “We’re not fucking in an airport.”

Lance tried to pout. He really did. Keith could see the effort it took to keep his lips from curling at the edges, to keep his eyes from crinkling at the corners. In the end, though, it didn’t work, and Lance was left smirking. “You scaaaared?” He teased, voice low and lilting, fingers dragging beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

Keith scowled, lips pursed tight. 

He lasted all of ten seconds. Ten, long, torturous seconds as he tried his best to ignore Lance’s fingers teasing heated skin. Muscles jumping beneath his touch. Warmth coiled low in his gut, hot and tight.

Finally, he sighed, loud and exasperated, pushing Lance’s hand away and sitting up. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his backpack and slinging the strap over his shoulder. “Get your shit and follow me,” he snapped, tossing Lance’s jacket at him. 

Lance’s laughter echoed behind him as he stomped away.

* * *

_ Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine… _

Keith stood facing the door, bags and hoodie already discarded into the corner. They had found a single person handicap bathroom off in a corner of the airport where there were few people hovering. It smelled like bleach and chemical citrus, fluorescent lights bright, but at least it was clean. It would do. 

_ Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two… _

He had told Lance to wait thirty seconds. Was he counting too fast? He was probably counting too fast. 

_ Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five… _

His frown deepened, weight shifting from foot to foot. 

_ Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty— _

The handle turned, door cracking open, Lance slipping inside. 

“Finally,” Keith breathed as he reached for him, pulling him into the room and closing the door behind him, clicking the lock into place. Lance’s bag slipped to the ground, jacket falling from his grip as Keith crowded his space, pushed him up against the door, knee slipped between his thighs. 

He saw the spark in Lance’s eyes, dark and molten, saw the slight curve of his lips. It was victorious, amused, triumphant, and so incredibly self satisfactory. So Keith did the only thing he ever did when faced with that smile: he kissed him. He kissed him hard and rough, eager to wipe that grin off his face and replace it with slack-jawed panting. 

Keith kissed him thoroughly, deep and wanting, but with a gentle reverence that he could never truly be rid of. After all these months, kissing Lance still felt like a dream. It never lost its spark. Never lost the thrill that shivered through him. Never failed to make his blood buzz through his veins with giddy surrealness. He could kiss Lance for hours, days, and never grow tired. He was a dying man in a desert, and Lance was his oasis. A promise. A shimmer. A dream. A paradise. 

Lance chuckled, low and rumbling, breaking their kiss with his grin, despite Keith’s best attempts. Hands crept up his chest, over his shoulders, wrapping loosely around his neck. Lance tilted his head just a fraction, leaning forward to playfully nip at Keith’s bottom lip. “Eager?”

“Shut up,” Keith growled back, pushing his hips into Lance’s, pinning him a little more forcefully against the door. 

“Make me,” Lance said, eyes sparkling, voice low and breathless.

So Keith kissed him again. And again. And again. Rough and gentle in turns. A push and pull. Dive in with tongue and teeth, leave Lance breathless, pull back until Lance came chasing after him, then pushing him back once again. His hands made their way down to Lance’s slim waist, his narrow hips, slipping under the hem of his shirt and sliding up to find warm flesh. His muscles twitch and writhe under Keith’s exploratory touch. 

Lance gasped, arms tightening around Keith’s neck, fingers buried in his hair and holding on like a tether. Keith’s lips made their way down Lance’s jaw, sliding down the column of his neck, pressing and nipping and sucking in turn. Lance tilted his head back automatically, giving Keith more room, silently offering all the encouragement Keith needed. 

“Do we have anything?” Keith asked, lips moving against his neck, breath hot on his collarbone. 

“Lube and condoms,” Lance said, significantly more breathless than he had been moments ago. “In my bag.”

Keith leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he gave him a flat stare. “Seriously? You didn't put the lube with our checked bags?”

Lance’s smirk was back, cocky and cheeky, and it did things to Keith’s heart. He winked, playful and quick. “Boy Scouts taught me to always be prepared.”

Keith snorted a short laugh, letting his head drop to Lance’s shoulder, effectively hiding his smile. “I hate you so much.”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. His raging hard on was proof enough of that.

Keith pulled him off the door, and Lance came willingly, allowing Keith to maneuver him across the room. He turned Lance around, pushing him up against the counter in front of the sink, but more importantly, in front of the mirror. 

Lance’s hands reached out automatically, planting them on the counter as he leaned forward, back and body arching beautifully as Keith pressed up against him. His head tilted to the side, and Keith took that as direction enough, sinking his teeth into the juncture of shoulder and neck soft enough to be teasing but hard enough that Lance gasped, back arching just a little more, ass pushing back against Keith’s hips. 

Keith’s hands wound around his waist, fingers slipping under the waistband of his jeans to playfully run along sensitive skin, light and teasing, until Lance was squirming against him. He trailed his nose up the length of Lance’s neck, pressing his lips to the spot just below his ear, breath coming hot and heavy through his nose and he sucked at the skin. 

“This is probably wrong on so many levels,” Lance said, breathless and amused. Keith’s fingers pried at the button of his jeans, snapping it open and pushing at them until they started to slide down his hips. Lance helped by giving him a little wiggle as Keith dropped to his knees, pulling Lance’s pants and boxers down with him. “I mean, for one, a public airport. And for two, a handicap bathroom.”

Keith just hummed his acknowledgement, reaching for Lance’s discarded bag and digging in the pocket he usually keeps their shit in. His fingers closed around a familiar bottle of lube, and it was only seconds later that he found one of the condoms. 

“Too bad this doesn’t count as the mild high club. Hey Keith, we should join the mile high club—“

“Lance,” Keith ran his hands up Lance’s thighs, reveling in the smoothness of his skin, in the lean muscles beneath. Until Lance, he never really considered himself much of a legs man. Now he knew the error of his ways. 

“Yeah?”

A pleased thrill ran down his spine as Lance automatically shifted his legs, spreading them as far as his pants would let him, leaning forward just a fraction more to push his ass out just a little further. He didn’t think Lance was even aware that he did it. It was simply a subconscious response to Keith’s hands on him, a clear indication of what his body wanted. 

Keith’s hands trailed up to his ass, loving the way it felt beneath his hands, smooth and small and tight. “Shut up.”

Lance scoffed, ever defiant, even as he stood with his pants sagging around his knees. “Why don’t you make—  _ Oh _ .”

His words devolved into a long, shuddering exhale the moment Keith leaned forward and pressed his tongue flat against his entrance. Keith smiled, knowing Lance could feel it pressing against his cheeks. There was an indignant huff, but he hunched a little more over the counter, spreading himself a little wider, offering himself like a gift. 

And who was Keith to deny such a perfect ass put on display just for him? 

If he had time, he would take it slow. He would eat out this boy until his knees buckled and he was babbling incoherently, begging and pleading for something more, for release. He would reduce him to a puddle at his feet with just his mouth and tongue. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have that kind of time. Every moment spent in here raised suspicions, increased the odds that they would be caught. If he was being honest, it was thrilling. Still, that didn’t change the fact that this was neither the time nor place to take his time worshipping Lance until he fell apart. 

However, Keith wasn’t beyond making him beg for it. 

So he dove right in, hands rubbing Lance’s thighs, tongue working him in all the ways that he had learned that Lance loved. When he could feel the muscles of his legs shaking under his hands, he reached for the lube. The pop of the cap was loud in the small room, and he felt the shiver that ran through him. 

He replaced tongue with slick fingers, rubbing the outside, around the rim, free hand rubbing Lance’s thigh while his lips pressed kisses to his lower back and the curve of his ass. When Lance had relaxed and accustomed to the touch of lube, Keith pushed into him, slow and steady, working his way past the first knuckle. 

Despite their time sensitive situation, Keith didn’t rush. Hurting Lance wasn’t on his list of things to do. Make him sore enough that he spent the entire plane flight tomorrow thinking about Keith’s dick in his ass? Yes. Hurting him? No. 

So he took his time. Used lube generously. Stayed on his knees despite the sharp ache where they pressed into the unforgiving tile. Pressed soft kisses into the dimples of his back. Whispered soft praises against the swell of his ass. Free hand reaching around to stroke him lazily, teasingly. Not enough pressure to get him anywhere, but enough to keep him going. 

“You’re doing so good,” Keith muttered, three fingers in and lips pressed to Lance’s spine. 

Lance whined, shifting a little on his feet, minutely wiggling his ass. “Keith, come on,” he said, voice strained and breath labored. 

“Not yet.”

“Please,” he breathed, voice high and needy.

“No, just a little more.” 

“ _ Keeeeith _ .”

His knees screamed in protest as he stood, fingers still working as he leaned forward, pressing the length of his body to Lance’s back. Lance whined again, high pitched and deep in his throat, pressing back into him, grinding himself against Keith’s fingers. Keith chuckled low, putting his lips by Lance’s ear. “Eager?”

“Shut up,” he growled, breathless and without heat. 

He made a noise of protest when Keith pulled away, but stopped when he heard the tear of the condom wrapper, the sound of Keith shuffling as he pushed his pants down far enough to pull himself out. Keith slipped it on, coating himself in more lube before setting the bottle on the counter. He pressed back into Lance’s back, draping himself over him, pressing his cock to Lance’s ass, grinding it slowly between his cheeks. His hands slipped beneath Lance’s shirt, fingers splayed wide as he ran them slowly up his chest, feeling every curve, every dip of muscle, every bump of his ribs. His thumbs lightly pressed against his nipples on the way, causing Lance’s body to jerk and his breath to catch. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, chin hooked over Lance’s shoulder, eyes lidded as he stared at him in the mirror. Lance lifted his head to meet his eyes, and Keith felt a fresh wave of heat roll through him, coiling low and eager. Lance’s skin was flushed, chest and neck and cheeks darkened with a tinge of red. He was hot to the touch, a thin layer of sweat already forming. His hair was mussed, eyes lidded, blue irises dark and needy. Sweet, pink lips parted and wet, slightly swollen from Keith’s teeth. Fresh marks were blossoming to life on his neck, and he knew Lance would yell at him later for that, but for now, Keith marveled at the way they decorated his skin. His shirt was riding up, revealing a toned stomach, a thin trail of hair leading downwards from his navel, sharp hip bones, toned thighs.

His cock was hard and heavy, dark and glistening at the tip. 

“Beautiful,” he repeated, running his hands up and down Lance’s torso.

“Keith,” was all Lance managed to say, but it was a plea, followed by a whimper. 

“Use your words, Lance,” Keith said, voice low and husky, unable to hide his amusement. 

“Please.” Lance pushed back against him. His body squirmed, needy and pleading, but his eyes met Keith’s in the mirror, defiant and hungry, a fire burning there that threatened to swallow Keith whole. “Just fuck me already.” Then his voice broke, just barely, and Keith could see his resolve to stay strong crumbling. 

Keith reached down, aligning himself and pressing against his entrance. The gasp that hissed through Lance’s teeth sent a shiver down Keith’s spine. He put a hand on Lance’s back, pressed gently to his spine. “Relax,” he said, voice low and soothing, and he felt Lance do just that, body visibly relaxing beneath his touch. 

Keith pushed in slowly, murmuring praises beneath his breath, hands moving restless over Lance’s back, stomach, chest, legs. Soothing him. Relaxing him. Keeping him from tensing up. He watched Lance bite his lip in the mirror. Watched the way his brows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. When Keith was all the way in, he watched as that look of discomfort dissolved into something else, something heavier and hungrier. 

“You okay?” He asked, voice pitched low with concern as he pressed a kiss to Lance’s neck. 

He let out a shuddering breath, shoulders sagging a little as tension eased out of him. He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he said, voice shaking just slightly. “You can move.”

Keith didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back, nearly all the way out, before pushing back in, slow and deep. Lance gasped, fingers curling against the counter, body arching, head tilting back. The sound was loud and throaty, and not at all subtle. 

Keith smirked, leaning forward to press his lips to one of the marks blooming on the juncture of Lance’s neck. “You’re going to have to be quiet,” he said, voice pitched low. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you, would we?” 

He did. He really did. The thought of people hearing Lance, knowing just how good Keith gave it to him, had his toes curling, heat rushing through him. But now was neither the time nor place. 

Lance let out a breathy whine, high and pitiful as he bit his lip. He said nothing, but nodded. 

Keith started at an easy pace, hands on Lance’s hips, leaning back so he could watch himself thrust into him. “You feel so good, Lance,” he said, his own breath coming hard. “So tight. So good.” Lance whimpered, the sound loud and choked off. Keith leaned forward, hands wrapping around him, rising up his chest to hold on to him. He hovered over Lance’s shoulder, watching him in the mirror. “So beautiful.”

Lance whimpered again, trailing off into a whine. He pushed back incessantly, and Keith chuckled, slowing his pace just a fraction.

“Use your words.”

Lance cursed under his breath, something that Keith couldn’t quite catch. “Faster,” he finally managed to choke out, voice sounding strained. “Keith, please, faster.”

Keith felt the tilt of his lips, meeting Lance’s eyes in the mirror as he picked up the pace. Keith watched him. Watched the way he slowly came undone. Watched each and every twist and turn his expression made. Watched his lips alternate between open panting and biting shut. Watched the way his throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to hold back sounds. Watched the way his eyes squeezed shut, head tossed back as he lost himself. 

The room was filled with the sound of flesh against flesh. Keith’s heavy breathing. Lance’s muffled sounds, pants, whines, whimpers, and barely concealed moans. 

Keith was watching him closely, and saw the moment his hand started to reach for himself. Keith grabbed it, pressing both their hands to the counter. “No.”

Lance whined, high and needy. “Keith— touch me—“

“No,” he said again, biting at Lance’s neck, loving the way his breath hitched. “You’re not allowed to come yet.”

“ _ Keeeith— _ “

He leaned into him, pushing him further over the counter, his own thrusts becoming erratic and hard as he chased his own pleasure. He could feel the hard resistance of each thrust as Lance’s body pressed into the counter, but if it was uncomfortable, he didn’t say anything. So Keith kept going. Pushed into him mercilessly, breath heavy and hot as he panted against Lance’s shoulder. 

He shifted his legs, adjusting his feet, moving the angle just slightly—

Lance inhaled sharply, letting it out in a long moan that was definitely too loud, sounding like it was ripped out of him against his will, rough and raw and primal. 

Keith slapped his free hand over his mouth. “Quieter,” he growled against Lance’s ear, hips never stopping. Lance shuddered and whimpered against him. Keith pressed two fingers against Lance’s lips, and it took only a moment for him to understand. He opened up instantly, eagerly pulling Keith’s fingers into his mouth and sucking greedily, tongue lavishing over the digits. 

He didn’t entirely keep him quiet. Sounds still slipped out. Groans rumbling deep in his chest. Moans easing out between the gap of Keith’s fingers. But at least it was easier for him to hold it in while his mouth was busy.

Keith’s own breath was coming hard. Heat coiled low in his gut, pleasure spiking with every thrust, driving him forward. His hand left Lance’s, skittering across the counter to wrap his fingers around Lance’s length. 

Close. He was so close. He watched Lance in the mirror. Held eye contact. Watched Lance fall apart willingly and with a show, knowing Keith was watching, eyes hooded and dark and hungry. 

He didn’t know who came first, and it didn’t matter. One moment they were momentum. They were motion. Pressing against the counter again and again. A driving force. Forward. Forward. Chasing pleasure. Ignoring pain. Motions becoming erratic, uncoordinated. 

And then his pleasure spiked, rushing through him and over him like a flood, dragging him down, setting every nerve ending alight. He groaned, long and deep, letting his head drop to Lance’s shoulder as his hips twitched, riding it out. Lance stiffened as he came, body tensing, breath catching in his throat, cutting out of choked moan. 

And then neither of them could stand any longer. As soon as Keith pulled out, their legs gave out, wobbling and shaking, they sank to the floor in a messy pile of limbs and half shed clothes, covered in sweat, lube, and come. 

Lance leaned back, half in Keith’s lap, half his ass on the cold tile. He tilted his head back, meeting Keith’s eyes, and smiled. Blissful. Pleased. Exhausted. Keith returned it, a small tug at the corner of his lips, and dropped his forehead to Lance’s, eyes closing. 

A jiggle of the door handle broke through the moment, followed by a knock at the door. 

They both froze, stiffening and eyes flying open, wide with panic. They stared at each other for a moment, and then slowly turned to the door as the knock sounded again. 

Lance was the first to recover. Clearing his throat before speaking, “Uh, occupied!” His voice was ragged and hoarse, but believable. 

There were muttered words from the other side of the door, and a shuffling as the person moved away. They stayed still for a moment, neither of them daring to breathe. 

Then, like magnets, drawn together inexplicitly and completely, their gazes slid back to one another, locking into place. 

And they laughed, reaching for one another, Keith muffling his snickers in Lance’s shoulder and Lance giggling against his temple. 

* * *

“ _ Baaaaabe _ ,” Lance whined, leaning over the armrest between them and putting his head on Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith hummed his acknowledgement, one earbud in, eyes on his phone as he flipped through his music. 

“My ass hurts,” Lance said, soft enough that it remained between them and not reaching the passenger on Keith’s other side. 

Keith felt the corner of his lip tug up into a small smirk. “Deal with it.”

Lance made an indignant sound, tilting his head to gaze up at Keith, brow furrowed and bottom lip sticking out. “Have some pity, man.”

Keith shrugged with his free shoulder. “Should’ve thought about that before you asked me to fuck you in an airport bathroom,” he muttered, turning his head to press a soft kiss to Lance’s brow. It smoothed out under his touch.

He sunk a little lower in his seat, wiggling to find the right position before huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. He remained leaning against Keith’s side. Though he remained silent, he was pouting. And he was pouting  _ loudly _ , despite not saying a word.

Keith leaned down, putting his lips to Lance’s hair to mumble, “Will it make you feel better if I let you fuck me in your childhood bed on Christmas eve?” 

Lance shot up, back straight and wincing a little in pain, but that did nothing to dim the sparkle in his eyes or dampen the grin on his lips. “Really?”

Keith nodded, looking back to his phone. Lance leaned over the barrier between them, putting his lips to Keith’s temple. “I’m going to get you on Santa’s naughty list.”

Keith groaned loudly, rolling his eyes as he shoved Lance away, heat rushing to his face as Lance laughed. “I hate you so fucking much.”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. You've Got Me Like A Penthouse Suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pining - growing relationship - sex on a balcony - 7,922 words
> 
> _When he’s on stage, Keith is invincible. He’s confident, lost in the music, and there’s nothing he can’t do. Unfortunately, being a rockstar does little to help his personal relationships. Especially when he gets tongue tied and nervous around the pretty boy he wants to ask out. Oh yeah, and his resting bitch face isn’t doing him any favors either._
> 
> _With a little shove from his friends, he asks Lance to design the inside of his apartment as an excuse to spend more time with him._

Keith has a big fucking problem. 

Shiro likes to say he just doesn’t know how to express his emotions. Allura says he has permanent grumpy face. Matt calls it his murder face. And Pidge calls it resting bitch face. 

Either way, it’s a big fucking problem. 

On stage, it’s fine. Great, even. On stage, he can take up his guitar, get lost in the music, and let the crowd of faces blur and disappear. Nothing but him, his friends, the beat in his bones, the rhythm in his heart, the strings beneath his fingers, and the music in his veins. Up on stage, it doesn’t matter what his face is doing. The media and their fans spin it like he’s some kind of mysterious, tragic soul. 

He’s been called deep. He’s been called emo. He’s been called cool. He’s been called a lot of things, and he’s been told most of them are good. Whatever his face does on stage when he plays is good for his image. 

It’s not, however, good for his personal life. 

Especially when he wants his personal life to include a gorgeous boy who wears every emotion on his sleeve, fucking blindsides Keith with his smile, and leaves him floundering and lost and struggling to form words. 

Lance comes around often. He’s one of Pidge’s best friends, and he and Hunk come with her to all of their concerts. And because Pidge is Matt’s little sister and the two of them are practically inseparable twins, Pidge and her friends make it back into their private rooms to hang out before and after their shows. 

Lance is... something else. He’s fucking beautiful. He’s funny. He’s endearing. He’s kind and generous and selfless. He’s confident and cocky in all the right places. And he’s way too fucking out of Keith’s league. 

What had started out as,  _ Oh, Pidge has a hot friend _ , quickly turned into  _ Pidge’s hot friend is funny _ , which morphed into  _ I want to tap Pidge’s hot friend _ , and that spiraled far too quickly into  _ I want to take Pidge’s hot friend out on dates and cuddle him on the couch and attempt to make dinners with him that we ultimately fuck up and end up ordering greasy take out before fucking on the floor and making out in the shower. _

So yeah, he’s got it bad and his face  _ really _ isn’t helping. 

Whenever they’re all hanging out backstage, Keith tries. He really, really does. But everything he says comes out too stilted. Too short. Too clipped. He thinks he must be scowling, too, based on the way Lance frowns at him. But any sort of frustration he feels is directed solely at himself and his inability to have a normal fucking conversation with a cute boy. 

It doesn’t help that Lance is  _ weird _ with him, and only him. Though he thinks that might be because of his own awkward antagonism and his fucking resting bitch face. No matter the reason, Lance treats Matt like an older brother. Treats Shiro like he’s some kind of hero or god. Straight up flirts with Allura. And treats Keith like a rival or something. 

Always with the snapping comebacks. Always with the competitions. Always with the poking and prodding. Always a quip to clap back when Keith’s attempts at flirtation turn sour and mocking. It’s... not too bad, if he’s being honest. At least he gets some of Lance’s attention. And if he’s being  _ really _ honest, he likes that Lance can keep up with him, challenge him, treat him somewhat normally and not with the kind of reverence he gives Shiro.

Still, he wishes there could be something more to it.

Sometimes he thinks there might be hope. Sometimes, when their competitions and arguments get heated, but there’s this playful edge to it that keeps it from getting serious. And edge that has a strange and heated kind of tension of its own. He catches it in the way Lance stops being able to hold back his smile. In the way those beautiful blue eyes go all lidded and dark, and he stares at Keith in a way that’s far from innocent and makes heat roll through him like a desert storm. 

Moments where they’re shoving each other and it turns into some sort of wrestling match, or they’re up in each other’s faces, pushing into each other’s personal space for no logical reason other than just to get close. In those moments where he catches that look in Lance’s eyes, sees the way his gaze flickers just briefly to Keith’s lips, and the leans in just a fraction more. 

But then those moments end. Usually with Lance pulling away and skittering off to another side of the room. 

Half the time, he goes to flirt with Allura afterward, and... yeah, that’s valid. She’s beautiful, too. They’d make a good pair. If it hadn’t been for those brief moments, Keith might have been fooled into thinking Lance was straight. But... he’s just got this  _ feeling _ . A feeling that he stands  _ some _ sort of chance. 

If only his face would stop cock blocking him. 

* * *

As the trio slips out of the room with promises to return after their show, Keith stares wistfully at the door, trying commit the last view of Lance’s ass to memory.

“Hey, Keith, if you pine any harder, I’m shipping you off to Arizona to join the world's largest pine forest.”

Keith turns his head, eyes narrowing on where Matt is lounging on the couch opposite from him, eyes on the phone in his hand but lips quirked into a small smirk. “Shut the fuck up, Matt.”

“You know, most people agree that the first step toward a relationship is actually talking to them,” Shiro says, slouched on the couch next to Matt, feet up on the table between the two couches. He holds up his phone, angling it so the forward camera faces him and Matt. Matt reacts instantly, leaning over and grinning as Shiro snaps a quick selfie. Then they’re both leaning back into their spots. “You could try just asking for his number.”

Keith groans, slouching down, legs stretching in front of him, and head slumping onto the back of the couch. The seats next to him are empty, but he can still feel the warmth from where Lance had been sitting next to him. “It’s not that easy.”

“I could ask him for you—“

“ _ No _ .”

Matt just snorts a short laugh. “Pidge could give it to you.”

“And what would I say? Hey, I’ve been staring at your ass for months, wanna get dinner?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Keith groans again, reaching up to rub his eyes before letting his hands drag down his face. 

“If it helps any, I’m pretty sure he’d say yes.” 

He rolls his head to the side as his hands fall limply to the couch. Allura sits in one of the chairs she hauled over when the couch spots were taken. She sits on it backwards, leaning her forearms against the back of the chair. Phone in hand, one earbud in one ear while the other dangles. 

Keith frowns, feeling a bitter twist in his gut. “I think he’d prefer to go out with you.”

Allura snorts, and it’s only a fraction more delicate than Matt’s. She looks up at him then, an amused smile tugging at her lips and mischief in her eyes. “You really don’t know how to read him, do you?”

Keith’s lips purse, eyes narrowing. At his side, he idly rubs his thumb against the inside knuckles of his index and middle fingers. “He flirts with you all the time.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure it  _ looks _ like flirting, but that’s just how he looks most of the time. Have you ever actually  _ listened _ to our conversations?”

“No.”

“Well they’re usually about you.”

He blinks. “What?”

Her grin widens, and she leans back in her chair, phone forgotten as he puts on a surprisingly accurate Lance impression. “Hey, ‘Llura, is Keith always this grumpy? Sooo is Keith seeing anyone? Are him and Shiro a thing? Has he always been this talented? Hey, Allura, Keith’s pretty hot, right? Why aren’t you guys dating? Does he like dudes? Do you think he’d fuck me on one of the shitty tour bus couches if I asked him?”

He feels heat creep up the back of his neck, swift and hot, settling firmly on his cheeks. “He did not say all that.”

Allura rolls her eyes again, settling back against the chair, pinning him with amused blue eyes. “Yes, he did. Maybe not exactly that, but that was the gist of it. I swear to god, Keith. Just ask the fucking boy out already.”

Unable to take the intensity of her gaze any longer, he stares firmly at the table in front of him, lips pursed into a small frown. “I don’t know what I’d say...”

“Do we need excuses to talk to our crushes now? What year is this—“

Shiro elbows Matt in the side, sending him a good natured glare before turning a kinder smile to Keith. “Why not figure out what he likes and ask him to do that?”

He shifts in his seat, unable to meet their gazes as he stares holes into the table, insides churning. It’s not that he doesn’t  _ want _ to ask Lance out. He really, really fucking wants to. But he gets so tongue tied around him and with his track record, he doesn’t exactly trust himself to do so in a way that gets the  _ hey I wanna date and kiss your face _ message across. 

They’re telling him to dive right in, but Lance is an incredibly intimidating ocean. It might be best to wade in slowly, lest he drown. 

“Oh! I have an idea!” They all turn to Allura, sitting up straight with a too-bright grin and evil genius sparkling in the depths of her eyes. “He’s an interior designer! You could hire him to fix up your ratty old apartment and get some alone time with him!”

“It’s not ratty,” he and Shiro say at the same time. 

She rolls her eyes. “Please, it looks like the two of you tried to be adults and gave up a quarter of the way through. It looks like the apartment of a couple of sophomore college students.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Shiro asks, turning to Matt.

He just shrugs. “You’ve got the big screen and the home theater system that I rigged up. That’s all I care about.”

“Shiro.”

He looks over, and Keith gives him the best pitiful look he can muster. It’s nothing as dramatic as what he’s seen Pidge and Lance and Allura do, but it’s something. And he knows Shiro has a weakness to him looking vulnerable and small. Kicks in his protective instincts like nothing else. Is Keith gonna use that to his advantage? Fuck yes, he is.

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Are you seriously gonna make me hire your crush to redesign our apartment?” Keith lets his bottom lip stick out a fraction, lets it quiver just slightly. Lets his brows furrow and his eyes speak for themselves. Shiro just sighs, slumping further into the couch cushions. “Fine, but you owe me.”

* * *

So turns out Keith has another problem. 

The problem is that he’s a fucking sucker for this boy with flawless tan skin and deep blue eyes and a smile that could rival the sun. That, in and of itself, isn’t a problem. The problem part comes in when he realizes, a little too late, that he’d do anything to make that goddamn gorgeous boy happy. 

Like give him an unlimited budget to go nuts and redesign the entire interior of their apartment. 

Truthfully, when Lance asked him what their budget is, he panicked a bit. He and Shiro hadn’t really talked about that part. This was more or less just an excuse to be alone with Lance and get in his good graces. The actual money spent hadn’t been considered. So when he just shrugged and said  _ whatever _ , and Lance warily asked if that meant unlimited, and he foolishly said money wasn’t an issue, Lance’s face  _ lit up _ .

And yeah, okay, so the excitement coming off him in waves kinda dulls the regret to nonexistence. 

It’s not like he and Shiro are hurting for money. Neither of them are high spenders, and their career took off unexpectedly, giving them plenty in the bank with little to use it on. So... yeah, he’ll spend some of his to make Lance happy. 

Lance looked a little surprised when he found Keith in the apartment instead of Shiro, and it flitted across his features briefly when Keith said Shiro would be gone for most of the day. The surprise faded quickly, though, and was replaced with a smile that was far too genuine for Keith’s heart and a quip about how scandalous it is to be alone with a rockstar in his penthouse apartment. 

Keith tried really, really hard not to think too hard about that.

He tried, and he failed. 

Now his mind and his imagination are running wild as he dutifully follows Lance around the apartment. 

Lance talks quickly and excitedly, half of the words aloud and the other half mumbled to himself. He’s expressive, every bit of contemplation and thoughtfulness and excitement flitting across his features. He talks with his hands the whole time, waving at different aspects of the apartment, resting on his hips, flapping around in the air, tapping at his chin. 

He bounces around quickly, from one corner of the apartment to the other. Halfway through a thought and a creative vein before he’s distracted by something else and he’s off again. He looks at everything with sharp eyes and a mind for detail, absorbing everything as it is and babbling about how he imagines it could be. 

It’s adorable, really. This excited bundle of professionalism and almost a child-like glee. One moment his eyes are sharp, lips pursed in thought, tapping his chin as he works out the logistics of his creative plan. In the next moment, his eyes light up, he’s bouncing on his feet, and his hands flail around while he talks in half formed sentences about his ideas, eyes alight and grin far too wide for Keith’s heart to take. 

Another thing that’s far too much for his poor gay heart to take: Lance’s ass in those jeans. 

It should be illegal because  _ fuck _ it’s giving him a goddamn heart attack whenever Lance bends over. And boy does he find every little fucking excuse to bend over. The jeans are dark and tight, clinging to his ass in just the right way, and clinging to his thighs sinfully. His shirt rides up whenever he bends, giving Keith a little view of the dimples on his back and the curve of his spine and just how fucking grabable his hips look. 

Now Keith will be the first to tell you that he knows  _ nothing _ about interior design. And he’s not one to comment on anyone’s creative process. He works best when he’s sitting outside at night, with a gentle breeze in his hair and the sounds of nature and city meeting as one. Matt works best when he’s sitting on the couch upside down with his head hanging off of it and his bass balanced awkwardly in his lap. They all have their things.

But he’s pretty fucking certain that the process of interior design does  _ not _ require someone to bend over that much. Yet here Lance is, finding every excuse to reach for things, stretching out his long torso and making his shirt ride up, popping his pretty little ass out on display. 

And it’s not just his ass. Oh no. Lance seems to know  _ exactly _ how to accentuate every little beautiful thing about his body, and he’s doing a damn fine job making sure Keith can appreciate all of it. He stretches his legs, letting Keith know just how long and fit they are, and increasing his urge to sink his teeth into those thighs. He stretches his arms high above his head, letting the little V of his hips show and the lean muscles of his abdomen, while simultaneously arching his back just right. He tilts his head to the side, letting Keith’s gaze rake down the long column of his neck. 

And if  _ that _ weren’t enough, there’s the lingering touches. Whenever Lance walks past him, touching his arm like it’s necessary for Keith to turn around. Moves him gently out of the way and lets those sinful hands linger, running down his arm, his back, along his shoulders. Sending little jolts of electricity and heat coursing through him. 

The first couple times, Keith was able to put it off as his own insatiable thirst and wishful thinking. As it continued, suspicions began to rise that maybe this wasn’t all just part of his imagination. Then he caught Lance watching him. Caught those pretty blue eyes lidded and dark, lips coiled into a small, knowing smirk as he caught Keith staring at him, and now he’s  _ certain _ that Lance is doing this on purpose. 

Oh god, he’s done for. He’s so fucking done for. 

Lance is a fucking ocean, and he’s gonna swallow Keith whole. He’ll drown, and he’ll do so willingly. 

Still, no matter what kind of game Lance is playing, he  _ is _ here on a job, and he makes sure he does it. He’s got a little notebook in his hand, occasionally jotting things down, and a color palette wheel shoved in his back pocket. Keith trails after him as he flits around the penthouse suite from room to room, like a dutiful drooling puppy. 

Lance doesn’t seem to mind, if that devilish smirk is anything to go by. 

He asks Keith questions as he goes, questions on his and Shiro’s ideas and opinions for the place, but Keith doesn’t really have many answers to give. Through a conversation that feels like verbal wrestling, Lance manages to conclude that both he and Shiro like a neutral color scheme and a vintage aesthetic. Keith isn’t entirely sure what that means, but he rolls with it. 

“And I was thinking maybe a giant framed poster of your band, right about here,” he says, tucking his notebook under his arm to frame a square with fingers from both hands and hold it up to indicate a large, blank wall. He peers through the space between his fingers with one eye closed. It’s no doubt unnecessary, but it’s cute nonetheless. “Done up with film grain and stuff, and black and white coloring so it looks like an old timey movie poster sorta deal.”

Keith is already shaking his head. “No.”

Lance drops his hands, turning to Keith with a surprised blink. “No?”

It’s then that Keith realizes he hasn’t really said  _ no _ to any of Lance’s ideas yet. He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his hip to the side. He looks away, attempting to look somewhat casual as his heart does little somersaults at being the center of Lance’s attention. “I don’t want any posters of our band.”

“Really?”

Keith shrugs again, tilting his head to the side as his nose crinkles and his lip curls. “It feels... a little pretentious?” When he looks back at Lance, he’s watching him with surprise, which melts into thoughtful amusement as he tilts his head. A chuckle escapes him, and Keith frowns. “What?”

But Lance is already shaking his head. “Nothing, just... nothing. Come on, show me what other rooms you want me to do.” When he walks by, he touches Keith’s shoulder, letting his fingers trail across them, and Keith can’t help but feel like he had said something right. 

Shiro had said he didn’t care how much Lance did, but requested that his room remained untouched. Keith agrees, and while he tells Lance that his room doesn’t need a makeover, he can’t bring himself to stop the bubbling excitement when Lance says he just wants to peek into his room. 

“Come on, I’ve never seen a rockstar’s room before.”

“It’s just a room, Lance.”

“But you’re a  _ rockstar _ .” 

Keith raises a brow. “I thought you weren’t a big fan of me?”

Lance gives him a strange look that turns a hair sheepish. “I never said that.”

His other brow goes up as he blinks in surprise. “You literally said everyone in the band was cool except for me.”

“Yeah, well  _ you _ were never my biggest fan either.”

Keith finds it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. “That’s.. not true.” He scratches the back of his neck as he gestures to his room, silently giving Lance permission to peek inside if he really wants to. “That’s just my face,” he mumbles. “Pidge calls it resting bitch face.”

Lance hums, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he looks Keith over appreciatively. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m starting to realize that.”

The moment Lance steps into his room, Keith regrets giving him permission to do so. He leans his hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and hands fisted tight with nerves as he watches Lance walk to the center of his room, turning in a slow circle to take everything in. 

It’s not exactly the room one would expect from a rockstar. It’s just... a room. He has a cluttered desk with an impressive desktop setup, but that’s about where the impressiveness ends. His bed is big but messy, decorated with galaxy print sheets that can be seen where his black comforter is pulled back. He’s got a large bookshelf that’s stocked with all sorts of research books, documentaries, and sci-fi novels, and he hopes Lance doesn’t look close enough to read the titles. He’s got other shelves with knick-knacks and action figures and animal skulls. His walls have posters with space and planets and the one above his bed says  _ I Want To Believe _ . There’s a large bulletin board on one wall with all sorts of newspaper clippings and hand written notes and strings to connect them. His cryptid board, which he’s just now realizing no one has seen besides Shiro, Matt, and Pidge 

Maybe letting Lance in here was a bad idea. 

And with every second of silence that passes, Keith feels that regret build, and build, and build. 

But then Lance turns so he can see his face, and there’s no judgement there. No disgust. No carefully hidden confusion or wariness. Just... soft and open awe. It’s so unexpected that it has Keith reeling, heart thumping into overtime and stomach doing nauseating flips. 

“You know,” Lance says, voice soft and thoughtful as his eyes linger on Keith’s cryptid board. “You’re not what I thought you’d be.”

Keith licks his lips, trying to speak past the lump in his throat and a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry. “And what did you expect me to be?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to be low and hoarse like that, but it’s the best he can do while trying to keep it from cracking. 

Lance hums softly and tilts his chin, exposing a long stretch of his neck. Keith has the overwhelming urge to bite into it, to nibble and suck and kiss that skin until it’s bruised beneath his lips. “Snooty. Stuck up. Smug. Over confident. Pompous. Too good for the world.”

His eyes meet Keith’s then, half lidded and dark in his dimly lit room. Keith can’t help but take a moment to appreciate how good he looks there. Smile half lit and dancing wickedly and temptingly across his lips. Keith’s room is nothing grand. It’s just a bedroom. But Lance looks like he belongs there. Like he fits among the space paraphernalia and his messy sheets and the clothes strewn across the floor. 

Keith feels himself freeze as Lance slowly stalks toward him, unable to move and barely daring to breathe. Lance stops barely a foot away, close enough that Keith can feel his body heat. 

Keith can only watch, helpless and aching as Lance reaches out, idly picking a spot of lint off his shirt and letting his fingers linger before dragging down the curve of his arm. He tries not to lean into the touch, but he doesn’t think he hides the hitch in his breath. 

“Not a space nerd who believe in aliens, bigfoot, and the loch ness monster.” There’s a teasing tilt to his lips, but it’s not malicious. Not in the slightest. 

Keith reacts without really thinking, responses at the ready. “Aliens are definitely real. There’s no fucking way our planet is the only one that’s developed lifeforms in the entire universe. Bigfoot is fake. And Nessie is real, and I’m going to go to Scotland one day and find her.”

Lance’s smile curls wider. “It’s cute.” Keith lips purse, and he’ll shoot himself in the foot before he admits that it’s a pout. Lance, however, just chuckles, reaching up to tap his finger against Keith’s bottom lip. “Not helping your cause, but definitely helping mine.”

His finger drops from Keith’s lip, hand pressing against his chest. Light enough to be teasing but firm enough that Keith is pretty damn sure he can feel his erratic heartbeat. 

“You know,” he says, voice lowering and chin dropping to watch as his fingers trace patterns on Keith’s chest. When he looks up again, it’s through his lashes, and Keith can feel the heat and sparks coiling through him from where Lance touches. “I also thought a super hot rockstar would’ve been a lot smoother, too.”

“I am smooth,” Keith hears himself protest, but it’s hard to focus on the conversation at hand when all he wants to do is push Lance into his room and down onto his bed.

Lance’s lips curl. Wicked and amused. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

It’s really hard to think with Lance being this close, leaning in so Keith can practically feel his breath on his lips. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking. Either way, Keith has a hard time coming up with anything to say that might be considered smooth in this situation. Or any situation. It’s not like he’s known for his finesse with words, and he’s always been notoriously tongue tied when Lance is around. 

So he says the only thing he can think. “You’re beautiful.”

Lance blinks, surprise taking him aback as he leans away just a fraction, eyes going wide and smile falling as his lips go slack. For just a second, Keith thinks he said something wrong, but then a flush darkens Lance’s cheeks and the fingers on his chest curl into his shirt. 

“I, uh—“ Keith blinks. He’s never seen  _ Lance _ flustered before. Lance clears his throat, straightening just a little. “That wasn’t what I was expecting, but...” He leans in again, and this time Keith can  _ definitely _ feel his breath on his lips. “It did the trick.”

Keith feels his own lips part, eyes fluttering closed as his heart slams against his ribs and his blood sings through his veins. 

But before he can feel much else, they hear the front door open, and Shiro’s voice calling out, “Keith?” The door slams shut, and the two of them jump apart. “Keith? I’m home. Is Lance still here?”

Exchanging sheepish and uncharacteristically shy smiles, the two of them shuffle back out to the living room. Lance greets Shiro a little too brightly, and Keith can still see the blush hot on his cheeks. When Shiro gives him a curious glance, Keith just looks away, barely able to stand with his knees feeling like jelly. 

Lance rambles a few of his ideas past Shiro before excusing himself, saying he has a lot of things to research and a lot of planning to do, but he’ll be in touch. Keith walks him to the door, and once they’re out of Shiro’s sight, Lance wastes no time stepping forward, pressing a quick and chaste kiss to Keith’s lips, and slipping his business card into his back pocket. 

He pulls away with a playful wink, a quick squeeze of his ass, a small smirk, and a shyly mumbled, “Text me.”

* * *

Keith finds it hard to function for the next few weeks, and that’s mostly due to the fact that he’s glued to his phone twenty-four seven. 

He never used to be one to be overly attached to it. Never one to text often. That is, until Lance. Now he’s so attuned to it that he’s feeling phantom vibrations, constantly glancing at the screen and willing it to light up with his name. His bandmates tease him about it, but he doesn’t care. It’s easy to tune them out when he’s wrapped up in a conversation with Lance.

They talk about everything, and yet at the end of the day, it seems like they’ve talked about nothing at all. He never needs a reason to text him, and Lance learns pretty quickly that he doesn’t need a reason to text Keith either. Anything can be a conversation starter. Any story. Any random detail from their days. Any random thought. 

He likes it. He really, really fucking likes it. And he really fucking likes Lance. 

He finds it’s a lot easier to flirt via text than it is in person. And he finds the best way to flirt is to just be honest. He doesn’t need to be coy or sly or come onto him with the finesse and subtly that Lance uses. He just needs to say what’s on his mind, whatever he happens to think about Lance in any given situation, and Lance gets all flustered and tongue-tied. It’s cute. Really cute. 

Lance comes over a few more times to get measurements of their apartment and do a few sketches and planning, but he always ends up staying longer just to hang out. 

They get wrapped up in dinner (they end up burning their attempts and call Shiro to bring home take out). They watch movies (they pick terrible ones and spent the whole time making fun of them). They play games (and get really competitive, which usually ends up with them kicking and wrestling to throw each other off, and usually ends with Lance seated firmly in Keith’s lap for no reason other than they both want him to be there). And usually they end every night making out on the couch or in Keith’s room (he loses track of who starts it or how it starts, but it always ends up with Lance on top of him or under him, legs entangled, and lips locked while tongues and hands explore). 

He learns that Lance likes space, too. That he loves sci-fi. That he actually went to school to be an astrophysicist but somehow ended up in interior design by accident after graduating. He learns Lance loves the beach and has promised to teach Keith how to surf. He learns that he has a cat named Blue and a betta fish named Oregano. He learns that Lance has always been a huge fan of their band and loves watching Keith play, but didn’t think Keith liked him very much.

Keith makes sure to let him know just how much he likes him. Leaving marks all over his skin to prove it.

When it comes time for Lance to actually start working on their apartment, he makes them leave, saying he wants it to be a surprise. So he and Shiro pack a weeks worth of clothes and go to stay with Matt. 

They have a show the weekend that Lance is scheduled to be done. It’s somewhat local. Just a few hours away in the same state. A festival for charity or something. Keith wasn’t paying that much attention when it was explained to him. So he loads up onto the bus with his band and his crew, settles into a seat next to Pidge, and texts Lance for the duration of the journey. Lance and Hunk can’t make it, but Pidge is there to banter with him and keep him company.

They stay in hotels. The show goes off without a hitch. He loses himself in the music and the show as he always does. And when they’re halfway home when he gets the text from Lance that says he’s done and the apartment is ready. 

When they get back to their cars and go their separate ways, Shiro tells him that he’s spending the night at Matt’s again. He brushes it off like they have plans, but Keith knows that he’s just giving him privacy. He thanks Shiro, grin a little too bright, and hops on his bike, weaving through the dark streets to get home. 

* * *

Seeing Lance open the door to his apartment to welcome him home is a strange thing. Strange and foreign, but sends a thrilling shiver up his spine and heat cascading through his veins. 

Lance’s smile is bright as he stands there in his doorway, one hand on the door and the other on the frame. Eyes soft and lidded as he tilts his head to the side just slightly. Panting just enough to let Keith know that he practically ran to the door to beat him to it as he lets out a rushed and near breathless, “Welcome home.”

Keith drops his helmet to the ground and reaches out for him. One hand wrapping around to his lower back and the other sinking into his hair as he steps forward, pulling Lance roughly against him and claiming his lips. Lance hums into it, making a pleased little sound as Keith’s tongue pushes into his mouth.

Lance only lets it go on for a few more heated moments before he’s pulling away, lightly smacking Keith’s shoulder. “Okay—  _ okay _ . Enough of that. Let me show you the apartment,” he scolds, but he’s grinning as he does so. Keith attempt to dive in for one last kiss, but he’s met with Lance’s hand, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Keith, this is my  _ work _ , and it needs to be appreciated. You can appreciate  _ me _ after.”

Keith rolls his eyes but pulls away. Kicking his helmet into the apartment and tugging off his jacket and shoes before following Lance inside. 

He gives the grand tour with a flair that is so completely  _ Lance _ . He tugs Keith from room to room, giving him only a moment to absorb everything before he’s rambling, pointing out all the ideas he’s had and all the details he’s put into each room. A lot of them are surprisingly thoughtful, and Keith finds himself smiling in a way that’s far too soft and far too fond. 

“ _ Keith _ ,” Lance whines after catching him staring at him and not the framed pictures he handpicked and hung around the living room. He puts his hands on his hips, popping them to the side while he pouts. “You’re not even  _ looking _ .”

Keith’s smile widens into a small smirk. “Sorry.”

“You’re not. I can tell that you’re not,” he scolds with a threatening finger. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Keith’s smirk widens into a full blown grin. 

In all honesty, his apartment looks great. Everything is nice and clean, shades of black and grey and white, with accents of red and purple here and there. The couches and chairs are leather. The tables and shelves are new and shiny and pristine. The art on the walls and decorations look old and vintage, just like he likes. It’s simplistic, but not overly so. It suits him and Shiro. 

The overall design runs the risk of looking too... formal. Like a penthouse apartment should look when owned by someone rich and famous. A place that looks barely lived in and is more for show than comfort. 

But Lance has managed to take his and Shiro’s aesthetic and elevate it to a classy level while still keeping all the comforts of home. Mixed into the new are pieces of the old. His favorite throw blanket folded over the back of the new leather couch. Shiro’s dnd books stacked neatly on a shelf next to an art piece made from old records. Lance managed to seamlessly weave their old apartment with something modern and aesthetic and  _ grown-up _ . It looks like the actual apartment of a couple of functioning adults who care what others think, but while still keeping pieces of who they are. 

He’s actually really happy with it, and he knows Shiro will be, too. Even Allura would approve, and she’s got picky taste. 

Keith stands in the middle of the living room, grinning at the large framed image hung on one of the walls. It’s an artistic interpretation of Mothman, black and white and film grain. Red eyes. Lost amongst the shadows of a forest. He grins. “Shiro is going to hate that.”

“Yeah?” Lance comes up next to him, standing close enough for their arms to brush. “And what’d you think?”

“I fucking love it.”

“I figured you might.” He takes Keith’s hand, but unlike the rough grip he used to drag him around the apartment, this one is gentle. “Come on, there’s one more thing I wanna show you.”

Lance leads him out onto the balcony. There’s a couple of chairs there and a table that are new, nice ones that replace the rickety old lawn chairs he and Shiro had before. But they aren’t what draws his eye. It’s the large, really nice looking telescope set up in front of them. 

“You like space so much, but I noticed you didn’t have any sort of telescope. And you have like, a  _ really _ good view for stargazing up here, so... yeah.” He looks sheepish again. Shyly gesturing to the telescope and shuffling his feet. 

Keith turns to him, puts his hands on Lance’s hips, and backs him up until his back hit the waist high wall that surrounds their balcony. And then he kisses him until they’re both breathless, chests heaving where they’re pressed together, Keith’s thigh shoved between Lance’s, and Lance’s leg hiked up around Keith’s hip. 

When Lance pulls back to breathe, Keith’s lips trail down his jaw, nibbling along the long expanse of his neck and loving the way Lance tilts his head to give him more room, soft gasps escaping his lips. Fingers tighten in his hair. Not enough to pull him away, but enough to warn him. “What about Shiro?”

Keith hums deep in his throat, letting his teeth graze against Lance’s collarbones. He can  _ feel _ the full body shudder. “He won’t be home tonight. Staying at Matt’s.”

“Sooo... we’re alone?”

“Mhmm... Am I allowed to show you my appreciation now?”

He feels Lance stiffen, and lifts his head to find him looking around. “What... here?”

Keith glances around the balcony, then out to the city beyond. They have a dazzling view of the city lights below. Summer is just giving way to fall, and the nights give relief from the heat without getting too cold. He’d thought about bending Lance over nearly every surface in his apartment, but he’d failed to consider the balcony. 

But now he does. Taking Lance out in the open, where no one can see them but they can see the city below. With the stars above and the cool night air on their skin. “Yes.”

Lance glances over his shoulder, humming thoughtfully. “Well, it  _ is _ a good view.”

Keith looks back to him, enjoying the flush on his skin and the messiness of his hair. The way his shirt is tugged and pulled and disheveled. The blooming marks on his neck, and the wetness of his lips as his tongue peeks out to lick them. “Yes, it is.”

Lance’s eyes snap back to his, darkening as a smile curls in the moonlight. When he pulls Keith in for another kiss, it’s with a renewed vigor and a lack of the carefully constructed control that had been dictating their movements so far. 

It’s far more desperate as hands grab at each other’s clothes, fingers clinging frantically to fabric, nails biting mercilessly into flesh. Their kiss becomes sloppy, far more tongue and teeth than finesse, driven by the hunger and the rising thrill of anticipation, fueling the fire that’s burning low in his gut. Lance makes the sweetest little noises. Mewling and gasping softly, desperately, as he clings to Keith. Turning to rumbling moans as their hips begin to cant, grinding against the unforgiving stone.

“In my— fuck— In my pocket.” Lance managed to gasp out as Keith rubs his thigh against the hardness trapped in Lance’s jeans, hands inching up under his shirt to explore, fingers playing idly with the hard beads of his nipples.

Keith pauses, but then reaches down, adjusting so he can get a hand into Lance’s pocket. Lance’s hands explore his back, under his shirt, long fingers groping and restless. Keith’s finger enclose over two familiar objects and pull them out, pulling back to gaze at them in the light from the window. A small bottle of lube and a condom. 

He looks to Lance, eyebrows raised. 

Lance smiles, squirming against him and shamelessly seeking friction even as he looks sheepish. “I wasn’t sure if you’d have anything.” Keith continues to stare, and Lance’s smile quirks a fraction wider. “And I was confident in my ability to seduce you?”

Keith sighs, long and loud, letting it trail off into a low groan. “ _ Fuuuuck _ , Lance.”

His grin is wild and wicked. “That’s the plan.”

Keith makes quick work of him. Drops to his knees to struggle with the button of his jeans for a moment before sliding them and his boxers down those long, lean legs. Revealing them inch by inch and chasing each of those inches with his mouth. Lance kicks off his jeans, and Keith hooks one leg over his shoulder, lavishing attention on his inner thigh like he’s dreamed of doing. 

Lance braces one hand atop the balcony wall and sinks the other into Keith’s hair as he presses one finger to his entrance, slicked with lube. He hears the gentle hiss as he pushes in, and kisses along one thigh while his hand rubs the other until Lance relaxes. 

Keith tries to take his time, tries to stretch him out nice and slow, but it’s not long before Lance is squirming against the stone, fingers tugging at Keith’s hair, begging for a second finger. He gives it to him, reveling in the different sounds that escape him, loving the way he sounds, loving the way his thighs quiver, clutching tight around his shoulder. 

Keith pushes forward as he scissors him open, mouthing along Lance’s bobbing hardness. Licking up the shaft before slipping it into his mouth. He can’t get a good angle on it, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Lance gasps and moans and squirms, babbling encouragements and profanities as Keith slips in a third finger. 

It’s not long after that before Lance starts to beg again. 

And Keith is a very weak man when it comes to Lance. 

He pulls his fingers out, standing up and ignoring the protest in his knees as he grabs Lance and turns him around, bending him over the waist high stone wall. Pushing his jeans to his thighs, he pulls himself out, already hard and ready to go with just a few short strokes. Condom on and lube reapplied, he leans into Lance. One hand on his waist, pushing his shirt halfway up his torso, other hand lining himself up at Lance’s entrance. 

Keith watches as he pushes into him, memorizing the way Lance’s back arches, legs spread, taking him wholly and completely, tight and hot and wet. Keith’s breath hitches, hissing out between his teeth as his hips meet Lance’s. Lance is squirming where he’s bent over the stone. Keith leans into him, pressing his chest to Lance’s back as he presses a kiss to his neck. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“ _ Keith _ ,” he keens, accented by a gasp. Fingers digging into the stone. Back arching as he pushes back against him. “Please—  _ move _ , Keith, please—“

He starts out slow, getting a feel for it and honestly, just taking in the sight of himself sliding in and out of Lance, beautiful and bent over the balcony banister, with the city lights twinkling below. He can’t hold that pace for long, however. Not with how Lance is squirming, pushing back into each thrust and begging for him to go faster, harder, more, more,  _ more _ .

And if he asks like that, pleading and broken and desperate, Keith will give him anything he wants. 

So he takes him hard and fast. One hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder, holding him bent over the stone railing. Hips snapping quick and rough against Lance’s. Sounds of slapping flesh and Lance’s half formed words loud over the distant sound of traffic below. 

Lance’s ability to form words had left him, but his voice still went, making beautiful sounds that Keith took as encouragements. Keith, however, found his voice. Found his thoughts slipping out of him as he lost himself in Lance. “God, you feel so good. So fucking tight. So good, Lance. You’re so fucking good.” Lance whines, back arching beautifully, head tossed to the side and expression a mess from what Keith can see of his profile. Lips parted as he pants and drool staining the stone. Keith leans forward, hand slipping from his hip to wrap around him, fingers curling around his neglected cock and stroking quickly and roughly with each thrust. “Come for me, Lance. Wanna hear you.”

It doesn’t take Lance long to reach his limit, choked cry echoing in the little pocket of the night they have on the balcony of his penthouse suite. He comes over Keith’s knuckles, tightening around him. Keith strokes him through it, his own thrusts becoming uncoordinated as he spills over the edge after him. 

They stay like that as they come down from their high, Keith leaning on Lance and Lance pressed against the stone railing. Both of them panting. Both of their legs quivering. They hold just long enough for Keith to pull out before they’re both sinking to the ground, both a mess, skin sticky with cum and sweat. Lance ends up somewhat in Keith’s lap, leaning back against his chest and head hanging limp on his shoulder. 

“I’m a mess,” Lance groans, but his voice is hoarse and breathless. Thoroughly fucked and thoroughly pleased about it. 

Keith just hums, wrapping his arms around him. Pressing kisses to his neck. One hand in his hair, and the other trailing his fingers messily through the cum on Lance’s stomach. It was already cooling in the night air. 

Lance slaps at his hand, but it’s as weak as his protest, hedged by a laugh. “Keith, that’s  _ disgusting _ .”

Keith hum’s again, nosing along Lance’s ear and mumbling softly, “Guess you better stay for a shower then.”

“Guess you better help me, because I’m not sure I can stand.” 

“I can do that.”

“And order some pizza or something. I’m  _ starving _ .”

“I’ll add an order of breadsticks if you stay the night.”

“Are you bribing me to cuddle you after you fucked my brains out on your penthouse balcony? With breadsticks?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“Fuck yes, it is. Now carry me to the bathroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To learn more about me and my writing, please visit my social media! I'm most active on twitter. 
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	5. Better the Devil You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warlock Lance - demon Keith - rough sex - possessiveness - top Keith - bottom Lance - 4,616 words
> 
> _Lance comes from a long line of warlocks. To get their power, they must syphon it from a demon. The power is traded through a deal with said demon, and each demon had different things they ask for._
> 
> _Lance definitely has a favorite demon, and that demon definitely knows what he wants. Hint: it's Lance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, there's no real order I'm posting these. I just wanna give people things they wanna read and feel relevant again a;dlkfja;lfk
> 
> NSFW klance twitter is on a demon klance kick. Here's something I wrote a few months ago <33

Lance would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. 

The motions are familiar. Muscle memory at this point. The charcoal chalk dusts his fingers as he grips it loosely, making sweeping arcs and jagged lines across his floorboards. Once, years ago, when he had drawn these exact lines, he had been meticulous and slow, brow furrowed in concentration and chalk gripped tight, hands shaking. 

But now he’s confident in his strokes. He knows them intimately, burned into his mind and his heart. Singed against his very soul. He lets his hands do what they must. Hums gently to himself as he works, trying to settle his buzzing nerves, desperately trying to ignore the heat simmering low in his belly. 

Because he’s not a fool. He knows what this means. He knows what this is every time he picks up his chalk and draws these lines. And he’ll complain about it. He’ll put it off. He’ll whine and scowl and huff. 

But the fact of the matter is that he wouldn’t be here, kneeling on his bedroom floor, if he wasn’t certain that he wanted this.

Not that he’ll ever let that admission slip past his lips. 

His knees ache where they dig into the floorboards, but he uses the sting to keep himself grounded. Focused. To keep from thinking about the subtle and pleasant ache in his backside. The slickness between his cheeks where the oil remains, cool when a draft slips beneath his robes. 

A constant reminder of what he’s done— how low he’s sunk— and how he doesn’t actually care. 

Warlocks make deals with demons all the time. It’s how they get their power. His family has been doing so for centuries, and Lance is no different. They just… usually don’t pay the price that Lance pays. Or if they do, they keep it secret, must as Lance does. 

At first it had been out of embarrassment, and then out of shame. 

Now his secrecy— his privacy— the hidden and forbidden nature of it— adds to the thrill of it all. Fuels the heat that’s simmering beneath his skin and burning in his chest, white-hot with anticipation.

He lets out a shaky breath as the finishes the last line, connecting the circle. The summoning circle is complete, filling up the entire center of his room. Beautiful, in a way. Familiar. Dredging up sinful memories that have a wave of head cascading through him. 

It’s a basic circle, really. The exact one his mother taught him when he came of age and summoned his first demon. Back then, there had been a portion of the circle that remained blank. Calling not a specific demon, but offering up an open gate to any who would take up a young warlock on a deal. 

Keith had been the one to come that first time. 

And ever since then, Keith’s name has been the one Lance scratches into his circle, written in runes of an age long past and a language long forgotten, burning with an ancient magic that binds them all. 

It makes a basic circle mean so much more. Far more personal. Far more intimate. Far more beautiful.

Lance pushes himself to his feet, taking a moment to breathe, steady and deep, hole fluttering greedily, cool air rushing up to remind him that he’s achingly empty. He brushes off his knees and adjusts the rope he wears.

It’s the _only_ thing he wears. Woven from heavy velvet, soft against his bare skin beneath, falling well past his knees. A bright blue sash is tied around his waist, holding his robe closed. 

He sets the chalk aside, brushing the lingering dark dust from his hands. Not that it’s very visible. His fingers have long since been stained black from his dabbling of dark magic. The stain creeping along slender digits, nearly to his last knuckle, is a telltale sign of his dealings with demons. 

Or rather, his dealings with _Keith_. 

One day, the markings will rise up his arms. His mother’s stain is nearly to her shoulders. His father’s already creeping toward his pecs and crawling up his neck. His grandmother’s already reached her heart and her favored demon has already claimed her soul. 

Until then, however, Lance will continue to dabble. As is the way of their people. 

To seek power. Indulge in it. Lust for it. 

Usually it’s figuratively. For Lance…

He pulls the hood of his robe up, letting it rest at the crown of his head as he turns to fetch a long match. Systematically, he moves above his room. Steps light and practiced, falling confidently into place as he moves from candle to candle, lighting them as he goes. A low hum vibrates deep in his throat, an ancient chant forming on his tongue and slipping past his lips in a hushed whisper. 

He’s always seen the summoning as a song. A dance. A strange courtship between warlock and demon. A call to arms. A plea for help. A hand offered and a hand taken. Moving together, working together, in symbiotic partnership. 

He revels in the pre-summoning rituals. In the little things. In drawing the curtains and locking the doors. Shutting the world away while he lights candles and calls to ancient powers. The floorboards cold against his bare feet, and yet the heat rising around him. 

He feels the power building. It’s a vibration in the air. A thickness forming. Making it harder to breathe. Pressing in on him from all sides. A pressure strung tight and taut. His anticipation builds with it, coiling in his chest and vibrating with his chant. 

When the last candle is lit, he blows out the match, letting it fall as he pulls out the ceremonial dagger from the sash around his waist. 

It’s a dagger that Keith had given to him not too long ago. A gift. A promise. A question. An answer.

He steps up to the summoning circle, until his toes nearly touch the outer most curve, and between one breath and the next, he draws the blade across his palm. 

The sting is familiar, and his wince is reduced to only a twitch beneath his eyes. Blade in one hand, he holds out the other, tilting it so that the blood gathers, ruby red drops glinting in the candle light as they fall to the floor. His heart hammers as the soft sound of them landing, heat singing in his veins as his blood hisses and sizzles the moment it touches the circle. 

The summoning sigil flashes, ancient runes pulsing with light as smoke begins to rise, dark and inky, filling the room with the smell of sulfur, brimstone, and burning blood. Heat emanates from the circle as a portal to hell tears open. Lance closes his eyes against it, practically feeling the flames licking across his cheeks. It’s a terrible sound, a roaring and splintering of time and space—

Until he’s left with nothing but eerie silence. The heat of the flames gone. His skin feels oddly cold. His ears are ringing. The smell lingers, but not nearly as potent. 

He hears a soft hum, and a familiar voice, low and gravelly, whisper with smug amusement, “You called for me again.”

Lance opens his eyes slowly, narrowed against the residual sting of smoke. It dissipates slowly, localized above the summoning circle. 

At the center stands a man. A demon. _Lance’s_ demon. The only one he’s ever summoned. 

Although he’s only a couple inches taller than Lance, Keith still towers over him with presence alone. Pale skin shifts over muscles sculpted from marble. At his thighs and just below his arms, alabaster flesh shifts to black, dark as the obsidian stone that fills their domain. Reminiscent of the black marks that Lance’s people get from dabbling in demon-born magic. 

Waves of dark hair, silky smooth and unfairly thick, frames his face in gentle waves, shadowing eyes that glisten like amethysts. Thick brows, sharp features, pointed ears, a scar that slices up his right cheek. 

Strong, broad shoulders. Pecs and abs that are absolutely to die for. A narrow waist. Sharp hip bones. A dark trail of hair that leads down from his navel to the thick cock that hangs between his legs. 

Webbed and scaled wings spread out behind him. A tail idly flicks just above the floorboards. Horns like cracked obsidian rise from his mane of hair and curl along his head. 

His slitted pupils are wide as they stare at Lance in the dark room, eyes lidded and lips curled into a small smirk, showing a glint of fangs. 

He’s a powerful demon. Of that, there’s no doubt. Only son of one of the queens of hell. Many— if not all— would fear him. And yet Lance feels nothing but the tightening of his gut and the burning of excitement as he takes his breath away. 

His throat feels dry, and he licks his lips against the heat in the room. He doesn’t miss the way Keith’s eyes snap down to his mouth. It gives him the confidence to smirk right back. “You knew I would.”

He hums, low and appreciative. Smug, casual, and knowing. “You always do.” He takes several steps forward, bare feet searing against the chalk. He stops just in front of Lance. Just within the circle. Lips curling wide, chin lifting a fraction, voice rich and sinful as he practically purrs, “Hello, Lance.”

“Keith.” He hopes he sounds playful and aloof, but there’s a slight breathlessness that he knows Keith will catch.

“Not my name,” he says in their usual back-and-forth.

“You like it,” Lance is bold enough to say, inching forward until he’s right on the cusp of the circle. Standing in Keith’s shadow, chin tilted up to meet his eyes. “You like it because _I_ gave it to you.”

His true name is one that’s long, complicated, and near unpronounceable. Layered in the clashing consonants and sharp vowels of his ancient demonic language. Lance _can_ pronounce it, of course. Any warlock worth his salt learns the language at a young age, lest they fuck up a ritual or spell.

But his name is _very_ difficult to say in the throes of passion, and thus Lance came up with the nickname. _Keith_ is a close human equivalent to the first syllable of Keith’s true name, and thus it stuck. 

And Keith has never told him to stop.

He looks Lance up and down, dragging his eyes slowly along the robe to his bare feet. A telltale sign that he’s bare beneath. He lifts a brow, lips curling as he meets Lance’s gaze once more. “Used up the power I gave you already? Usually it lasts longer.” It’s a tease. A taunt. 

Lance’s mother always warned that demons were tricky and dangerous, but she never warned him that they could be playful or dangerous like _this_.

But Lance is familiar with this game. With _Keith_. He knows _exactly_ why he summoned Keith tonight. He knows _exactly_ what the deal is going to be. He knows where this is going. And he can give as good as he gets. So he lets his shoulders roll in a nonchalant shrug, head lolling to the side as he smiles, “What can I say? I was feeling… empty.”

He sees the subtle cracks in Keith’s expression. His eyes widening. Pupils dilating. Brows twitching. Hands flexing at his sides. He hums, low and predatory, “I can help with that.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“The usual deal?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Keith lifts a hand, reaching forward until his palm presses flat to the invisible barrier rising up from the edge of the circle. And then he waits, eyes dark and hungry as he stares Lance down. 

Lance is only a moment behind, simply admiring him for a few seconds before lifting his own hand, mirroring his position and pressing their palms together with only the barrier between them. He sees the flash in Keith’s eyes— a reflection of the glow emanating from his own as the deal is struck. 

He feels it wind through him, the power of the contract slithering through him, winding around his bones— his lungs— his heart— sealing them together until both ends are met. The cut on his palm heals, his blood burning away in the wake of their agreement. His body shudders, having been trained to recognize this sensation as a precursor to pleasure. 

Keith’s smirk, heavy and heady, tells him that he knows. 

It takes all of Lance’s willpower not to look down and seal a peak at Keith’s cock— wondering if it’s already hardening— wondering if he’s just as affected.

Keith licks his lips, bearing his fangs. “Then release me, warlock.”

Lance shifts his weight to one foot, reaching out with the other to smudge the line of the circle with his toes, breaking the barrier—

And Keith is immediately stepping forward, surging into Lance’s space, backing him up until he’s pressed against the wall. The dagger slips from Lance’s fingers, clattering to the floor. Keith looming over him— wings spread wide and sealing him in, blocking out the room— eyes glowing in the shadows— heat rolling off his body in waves— leaning forward as Lance tilts his head to meet Keith’s at the perfect angle—

And then Keith hisses, face contorting in pain as he takes a step back, wrenching his hand away from where it had pressed against the wall. He looks at his palm, brow furrowed as the skin there smokes and sizzles.

“I’m reckless, but not careless,” Lance says, and Keith’s eyes snap to his. He smirks, a little pride bubbling in his chest. “The whole room is sealed.” He cocks his head to the side. “Don’t want to be known as the warlock who released a demon into the world unbound.”

Keith scoffs, rolling his eyes as he flexes his fingers while the pain fades. “Perhaps you should bind me then.” It’s said casually. Off-handedly. But the implication and proposal aren’t lost on Lance. A delighted little thrill shivers down his spine.

A binding is a contract for life. A powerful warlock could force a binding on a demon, but a demon only binds themself willingly to a warlock when the warlock offers them their soul. To be the demons after their death. 

It’s a lifelong partnership. The demon is bound to the warlocks bidding during their lifetime, and the warlock’s soul is the demon’s after death.

Most warlocks go their whole lives only making temporary contracts rather than trade their souls. And demons rarely offer a binding unless the warlock’s soul is too delicious to pass up.

Keith is a prince of hell, and the fact that he’s offering to be bound to _Lance_ … Perhaps he should be afraid, but instead he feels himself melting.

Keith reaches forward, smile sinful as he hooks his claws into the collar of Lance’s velvet robe. “To the bed,” he murmurs. “Take this off. Present yourself to me.”

He steps back, allowing Lance to pass, smirking knowingly as he stumbles to the bed. His hands shake with excitement as he pulls on the sash tied around his waist. He holds it out, letting it fall. Then he takes hold of his robe, opening it with his back to Keith. He glances over his shoulder, eyes lidded as he takes in the demon watching him. A predator watching a lamb. 

His cock is hard and heavy between his legs, swollen and leaking. 

Slowly— purposefully— Lance lets the robe slide over his shoulders, down his arms, draped low on his back before he finally releases it and lets it pool on the floor at his feet. 

Keith shifts, a low growl resonating deep in his throat. 

The air is cool against his skin as he leans forward, crawling onto the bed on his hands and knees. He shivers as he spreads his legs wide— arching his back— swallowing thickly as his hole, slick and cool with oil, clenches around nothing.

Keith is there in an instant, a surge of heat rolling over him as he presses up against Lance from behind. His cock heavy and thick as it rests between his cheeks. His hands hot to the touch as they run all over his body. His hips— up his sides— back down to grip his ass, spreading him wide— before running up the length of his spine, curved into a pretty arc just for him— to the back of his neck to push his shoulders down to the bed.

His touch is warm, rough, and oddly gentle. Like he’s caught between tearing Lance apart and treasuring him like something precious. It’s overwhelming, and Lance melts beneath it, body shaking and breath shuddering out past parted lips.

“You prepared yourself for me,” he hums appreciatively, hands spreading Lance’s cheeks and thumbs gently pushing at his hole. 

Lance’s breath hitches, but he manages a fair amount of sass as he says, “Yeah, well… you always ask for the same thing.”

“You like it,” Keith says, smug and confident as he falls to his knees behind Lance. His breath ghosts over Lance’s hole as his hands keep him spread. “You like it because _I_ ask it of you.”

His retort dies on his tongue, choked by a gasp as Keith’s long, forked tongue slides over his hole, hot and wet. 

He _devours_ Lance. Taking his time to pick Lance apart, piece by piece. Using that _devilish tongue_ of his _exactly_ the way he knows Lance loves. In all the ways he’s learned over the years to make him melt and crumble. Tasting him. Delighting in him. Humming contently as he slips it as deep as it can go, strong hands holding Lance’s hips still as the rest of his body writhes and thrashes against the bed— hands curled in the sheets— head bent back and cries torn from his throat. 

He takes the bottle of oil he knows Lance keeps on the bedside table. Uses it to cover him— slick him up— pushes his fingers deep inside to test the stretch— humming and satisfied at the job Lance had done on his own.

“Eager, weren’t you?” He says as he gets to his feet. Lance squeezes his eyes shut, half collapsed on the bed as he tries to catch his breath, both grateful for the respite and eager for more. “A shame. I enjoy preparing you.”

The bed dips next to him, and then hands are on his waist. Keith lifts him effortlessly, and Lance’s heart skips, heat pooling low and clenching. He loves how easily Keith can move him. Pick him up. Carry him. Position him exactly how he wants.

And that’s exactly what he does. 

He sits on the bed, leaning against the wall and spreading his wings to either side. He pulls Lance into his lap, guiding his thighs to straddle his hips. Dazed but eager, Lance settles easily, adjusting until Keith’s cock presses behind him, along the curve of his ass. He sets his palms to Keith’s chest, leaning forward to crowd his space. 

Here, like this, nestled on his lap, Lance finally has some height. And Keith looks so pretty with his head tilted back to look up at him. 

Holding that beautiful violet gaze, darkened with hunger and demonic desire, Lance rises up on his knees, reaching behind him to take hold of Keith’s cock. It’s a large thing. Far larger than his own. Tapered at the tip and ribbed along the underside. Flushed purple and leaking hot, sticky precum. 

Keith’s hands are large and warm on Lance’s hips, and the tips of his claws bite into soft flesh as Lance presses the tip of his cock past his rim.

The soft, sharp intake of breath is music to his ears. He tosses his head back, letting out a long, low groan as he takes Keith slowly, sinking inch by inch, putting on a show that he knows Keith appreciates.

Because this obsession doesn’t go just one way. Keith may be the only demon Lance has ever summoned, but Lance is the only warlock that Keith has ever cared to answer. 

They’re both addicted to this. To the sinful delight of being joined. To the thrill that rushes through their veins as Keith sinks his cock deep inside him. To the way Lance moans and cries as he’s filled. To the tingling pleasure of the power transfer. 

To the sensation of being one— of belonging to each other— of owning each other— if only for a moment.

Lance sighs, pleased and content as his ass settles on Keith’s lap, cock buried deep inside him. The stretch burns, but Lance revels in it. Especially when he looks back to Keith and finds his gaze dark, lidded, and heady. He looks absolutely lost in it— lost in _Lance_. 

How strange that a demon prince can look like a predator and a kitten all at once.

“Well,” Lance hums, sliding his hands up Keith’s bare chest. One rests on the curve of his neck while the other slides his fingers into Keith’s hair. It’s a gentle touch, carding through silky locks— until his fingers tighten, giving a sharp tug that has Keith growling, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. Lance smirks, leaning forward to teasingly run his tongue along the seam of his lips. “Take what’s yours.”

He feels Keith’s smirk for just a moment before he surges forward, capturing his lips. Their kiss is heated and filthy, tongues and teeth merciless in taking what they want. Yet despite their desperation, they move together. Familiar in the push and pull. The give and take. They find a rhythm easily, falling into it. 

The ease at which it happens adds a level of gentleness to their messy kiss that has Lance’s heart squeezing. 

Strong hands hold his hips tight, lifting him up. He can feel every rib of Keith’s cock slide past his rim, pulling him off until he’s nearly empty— before pulling him back down as hips snap up to meet him. 

His moan is ragged with a shout, and Keith swallows it down.

And just like their kiss, they quickly fall into a rhythm.

Even in this, they work together. Forming a symbiotic pace. Lance rises up on his knees, moving his hips as he’s learned to do throughout the years. And Keith’s hands are there, his strength supporting and holding Lance’s weight so his legs never tire— so they can keep going— so he can take Keith’s cock deep and quick the way they both like.

One of his arms wraps around Keith’s broad shoulders, blunt nails biting heated flesh . The other slides through his hair to curl his fingers around the base of one horn and hold on tight. He finds leverage and grounds himself, clinging to Keith as he rides him.

The stretch is pleasant. The ribbing of his cock has Lance shaking. Keith is large and hot, filling and burning Lance from the inside out. He can feel it stiffening— swelling— pulsing inside him.

Sweat beads on his skin, though Keith remains dry. He doesn’t, however, seem to mind, leaning forward to run a long, forked tongue up the length of Lance’s neck and beneath his jaw, tasting the saltiness of his flesh. When Lance can no longer keep up with their kiss— lips parted and panting, moaning with every thrust, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed— Keith takes to sucking on his neck, nipping and sinking his fangs into sensitive areas until Lance’s throat is littered with marks that he’ll be proud of but have to hide all the same.

“You are so beautiful,” Keith whispers, voice hoarse against Lance’s throat. Lance clenches around him, back arching as he preens at the praise. “You put the flames of hell to shame.” His hands tighten at Lance’s hips, his tail flicking forward to wrap around his thigh. “And you’re _mine_.”

His hand releases Keith’s horn, sliding down— indulging himself as he traces his fingertips along the sharp contours of his face— until his long finger wrap around Keith’s throat. Palm against the front. Fingers tucked just below his jaw. He uses the leverage to life Keith’s chin, but Keith is already tilting his head back with him, eyes burning as their gazes lock. 

Challenging. Possessive. Hungry. 

Lance leans forward to capture his lips in a slow, deep, languid kiss. And Keith opens up for him, allowing Lance to take control and claim his mouth. Their pace slows with it, Lance’s hips moving in deep, slow circles. He can feel the moan start in Keith’s throat— can taste it on his tongue— smirks against his lips when claws bite into the flesh of his hips. 

He can feel it then. The transfer of power. It tastes like sulfur and burns like fire. He feels the heat of it against his palm as it rises up Keith’s throat. It slides past his lips, tingling against his tongue as Lance swallows it down. He breathes Keith in— his essence— his magic— his _power_. 

Given willingly— _eagerly_ — in exchange for _this_. For Lance.

He feels it spark and crackle where it settles in his chest. An energy eager to be spent and restless being idle. He feels the power seeping through his veins like molten flames. He loves this. _Craves_ this. The sensation of strength. Of _Keith_ , a prince of hell, making him strong. 

He pulls back far enough to meet his gaze, tilting Keith’s head a fraction to the side with the hand around his throat, just because he can. Tightening his fingers just to hear the pleased little gasp leave Keith’s lips. “You would look so pretty with my collar around your throat.”

Keith’s hips snap up, pulling a soft moan from Lance. One of his hands moves to Lance’s lower back, holding him steady while the other wraps heated fingers around his cock, jerking him off quick and sure as his hips continue to snap upward, bouncing Lance on his cock and forcing him to hold on.

Beneath him, Keith smirks, fangs glinting in the candlelight, eyes dark and lidded as he growls, “And you would look so good with my name seared across your soul.”

Lance comes with a cry, hand tightening around Keith’s throat. He hears the low groan— feels sporadic thrusts as Keith then buries himself deep and comes with him— filling him with heat. 

Lance moves his hips in slow circles as he rides it out, humming contently, head hazy in a state of bliss. His hand slips away from Keith’s throat, sliding through his hair and idly carding through it. Meanwhile Keith pulls him closer, pressing them tight while he nuzzles against Lance’s neck and Lance rests his head against one of his horns.

For now, they bask in the afterglow. In being pressed together and joined. Soon, Keith will have to return, now that the contract is fulfilled, but… for now, they’ll hold each other.

And one day, Keith won’t have to leave at all. Because one day, this little game of theirs will come to an end. This little song and dance. Cat and mouse. One day— soon, if he’s being honest— he’ll bind Keith. 

Keith will be his, and he will be Keith’s. 

It’s been inevitable since the day Lance realized that he’ll never summon another demon. So why deal with summoning him at all when he can just keep Keith at his side? After all, better the devil you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

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